This is long time ago, many man-lifes, not as many elf-lifes or tree-lifes. Two-legs that looked like this one looked very much like this one, less of tall, but still doing well with the men-things. Black cloths of wear, head-leaves of black and hang to ground. Always smiling but not of the happy.
Alone but for when time of dancing comes.
Speaks only to the ones behind the stars and to the insects. Words come out like profanities and secret wicked things.
Sometimes two-leg men come from other places to speak to this one, and it dances with them and sends them away knowing things of secret.
Sometimes brothers in green talk of her in north places, sometimes in south places. Stays away from fey-places, does not dance when fey are near. Sometimes kill ones who see or hear or talk of.
Two-legs that looks like this one still dancing, unless ran out of sap and stopped existing since last. Maybe turn black and inside-death like tree-brothers do.
The wind rustles through the trees as they grow silent, seemingly having nothing else to say on the matter.
- - - -
After the half-orc and his girlfriend depart and Marsh days his piece, Bacarov agrees with us friend regarding the ramifications of Elias' nature. Namely, it meant nothing in the larger context of their case. They are to find him, and collect the taxes owed. Lacking the former, then they'd need to know what became of the drunken lech.
"Seems Warshawski has found an admirer." He gives the investigator a friendly raiser of his flagon of ale, indicating an open invitation to join their table.
He leans over to Marah and whispers, "Try not giving her the business, eh chumeroo? Same side, remember?"
Dramin notices the excitement on Dalton's face. "If you want to discuss magical beasts, I would be glad to tell you as much as I possibly can. I am no means an expert but my breadth of knowledge is the best around, bar none." He turns to the illusionist. "Thank you much for your assistance, being the hunky friend and all." There is an attempt at innuendo but it is lost. He does a quick once over of the items from the student before he sets them aside into a case.
A small smile goes across his face as he thinks of who to drop them into.
He looks at the other and decides to set it aside for later. He is far too ecstatic right now.
"But when you do need help, if I am in the area and you make it interesting and intellectually challenging enough, chances are I will grace you again with my presence." He flourishes his bow and sets it back to his side.
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On the River - Warshawski
Dramin took her words in and really tried to settle down into them. Everything he ever had was through training or practicing, things did come naturally but to compare it to something mundane like breathing or sweating was a little much.
If he struck a nerve, he saw it and decided that the best way to get to the bottom of this mystery was to work with her.
"If thats the case, let me be the first to say I am not a regular wizard. I am not a man who has been locked up in some tower reading books my whole life." He puts his arms up signaling the air around him. "I do wish to understand your enigmatic abilities, so I will apologize for this and any future discomfort I may cause by my prying. However, I will not apologize for my own pursuit of knowledge; my own very nature."
He gives a small bow and seems like he is ready to leave but stares at the stars for a few more moments.
Just what I needed. I couldn't have gotten one of the sexy, laconic followers of Desna with a twinkle in their eye and knowledge of the mystic sexual rituals of the far east. No, I got a chattering chipmunk whose balls just dropped. Lucky me.
I grabbed hold of the kid's hand and dragged him over to Bacarov and Marsh before he tried to do more with his foot than just nudge mine. I pushed him into a chair and sat down myself.
"Marsh. Bacarov. This is Marvene. He follows Desna." I made the introductions quick, before grabbing hold of Bacarov's drink and taking a long swallow. He'd forgive me. "He's never been to Ravemoor but he agrees that the concept of an entire community that stays put being dedicated to a goddess of travel makes no sense. Something's wrong. With the full moon rituals? I'm thinking we want to get some silver before we head up there. There are good werewolves. Ashava has some who serve her... but..."
I shrugged my shoulders and let them fill in the rest. They were bright boys. At least, Bacarov was.
I glanced up at the moon one last time, then spoke to Dramin again.
"You do what you need to do. Just be ready for my to break your nose if I decide you're being an ass about it.
With that, I headed for the little room that was reserved all for me. It was small but having a set of t~+* meant I had it all to myself. Sometimes, I like life.
"Oh, uh, hi," he says, a hint of anxious disappointment in his voice. "I didn't realize... yeah. Right. Ravenmoor, huh? You guys are going there? Like, what, an investigation, or something...? So anyway, uh, anything I can help you, um, gentlemen with...? Because... if not... y'know, I have, like, matters to attend to... and all that..." He wrings his hands together nervously, and keeps glancing at the intimidating form of Vincent Marsh as if he's expecting a haymaker at any moment.
Dalton gives the small elephant-like creature in the cage one final smile before straightening, nodding farewell to the two mages, and moving away with Dramin to meet up with the others.
...
Sebastian looks down at his empty tankard and then up to Warshawski, a mock look of victimization in his eyes. But he leans back in his chair and chuckles. "And here I was worried about bloodsucking pet bugs and the fact our lost man is most likely a greedy, gobber-humping opportunist." A shake of the head, knowing the vile hand of addiction all too well. "Seems he's not a fan of wagons, because he fell off of one recently. Got the idea of setting off to Riddleport once the job was done. But it could have been his cups talking."
He waggles his empty tankard in the direction of the passing waitress, adding a genuine smile of gratitude and a respectful bow of the head when she acknowledges him. He adds a gesture towards the others at the table for her to grab a round of drinks for them too.
"So, werewolves. Hmmm, that casts a dark light on their annual crowning of the Queen of the Festival. Legend has it, lycanthropes fancy a well-turned ankle." Bacarov drums his fingers on the tabletop, finally giving the youngster a look. "Don't worry about old Vinnie, Mister Marvene, he only pummels the insolent. Stick around and enjoy a drink, but if you're too busy we'll understand if you need to be going."
To Warshawski, "I've got an open tab at Stanislov's supply shop. If there's silver weapons here, he'll have them." He gives a pat to the short sword at his hip, wondering if Cold Iron would do against a werewolf.
"At any rate, looks like we're just in time for their biggest festival in Ravenmoor. Raven fights, stirges for pets. The people are friendly enough in the light of day, but they don't want anything to do with outsiders after sundown."
When the waitress returns, he smiles warmly and pays the bill in silver. "Thank you, ma'am."
Back to the group. "There's two roads into town; one goes by the forest and has that fresh 'roving bandit feel'. The other takes you closer to the water, it's longer, but less bandity..." He takes a drink of ale. "...of course there's quick mud and bloodsucking bugs-a-plenty. I've got some supplies for both options on hold at Stanislov's shop so we can outfit."
He sips at his ale, indicating there's more but wanting to see what Warshawski or Marsh had to add. For his part, Bacarov didn't mind having to repeat himself to Dalton and Dramin. It gave him a chance to keep his facts straight.
-----------------
¤ (To Ingratiate himself to the Barmaid)
Dramin stares as he gets pulled away from his reverie in the tower, realizing that he still has more world to explore and this tower (if it has any mettle) will still be standing when he returns.
"Heh heh heh, well here I was expecting a dance off or something. Relax buddy, sit and have a drink with the lady. She brought Ya all the way in here just to let us know you've never been where we want to go, but maybe you know someone who has?"
"At the very least, we should be able to get vials of silver weapon blanch at that eyesore of a magic school." I ventured, agreeing with Bacarov's assessment. He and I knew fighting smarter was what we were good at. Our arms weren't designed for fighting tough.
"What do you think, Marvene?" I turned to the pipsqueak of Desna. I didn't want him coming with us but maybe he could still be useful. "Your goddess rules travel, right? Perhaps her guidance can tell us which road to take to get to Ravenmoor as safely as possible. Or, at least, which road our friend took. We need to find him, even if he's dead in a ditch along the way."
As Warshawski is saying "dead in a ditch", Dalton is just opening the door to the Galduria Tavern. "This feels familiar," he comments to himself, as he stands in the doorway and looks around for his other companions. "At least I know what they look like now...ah, there they are." Gesturing to them, Dalton beckons Dramin over and crosses his arms as he stands before his party's table. "Hello, hello. Is this one helping us find Elias?" he asks, gesturing at Marvene with a raised eyebrow.
Bacarov smiles greeting to the rest of the party as they join the table. He stands and acquires two more chairs for their use.
"He might," Bacarov responds to the monk. "I assume your venture to the academy bore fruit?"
Dramin turns to Dalton with a smirk and takes a seat next to the newest person there, not acknowledgong him as he sits. "You could say that Bacarov. It had nothing to do with this investigation but it sparked me good." He thuds his boots on the table.
"Regale us with your story and findings then, I have filled my quota for magical study today so I have some time to diversify towards this matter."
"I saw a little elephant." Dalton says, smiling as he sits at the table as well.
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Bacarov grins at Dalton, curious about just what it was the two men got up to at the Academy.
"So I think we find that the locals are aware of Ravenmoor. It's a town with nice enough people, but it's not travel friendly." Sebastian pulls out his notebook, a threadbare tome bound in hardened leather and wrapped in an oiled cloth. He flips it open and starts going through his notes. "Seems since there's no inn and nothing in the way of commerce, most just don't go out that way. Plus, the folks there are in the practice of keeping stirges as pets."
He opens the book further so he can show the gathering a quick picture he'd drawn based on another one Stanislov had shown him. Of course Bacarov has added some grotesque embellishments and notes while he was listening to Marsh question the young couple.
Bacarov continues reading from his notes, "I guess they have monthly festivals out there. One paluka managed being in Ravenmoor during one such party. Greased pig chasing, some raven fights...says they take good care of the birds. Could be like the rooster fights down in Rag's End." He shrugs and thumbs passed a page or two. "There's an annual crowning of Queen of the Festival. The guy I spoke with says the girls there are unusually pretty. Other than that, his take matches up with what others generally think of the place; creepy."
"Warshawski found a lead in that Ravenmoor venerates Desna, goddess of travel. The oddity being these folk are isolationist and stationary." He pauses a moment. "But I'll let her outline everything she discovered. Dramin and Dalton, your visit to the academy will come in handy there." he adds in reference to Warshawski's request for silver implements.
"Travel is going to be rough, don't think that's a surprise. I've got some gear lined up for us at Stanislov's Shop down the road. Tents too since it sounds like we won't get a warm welcome." He closes his notebook and continues after a sip of ale. "Two roads in; one over by the Churlwood is direct but lousy with bandits. The second is off the maps, muddy and buggy and longer. I might go for the first option since bandits are easier to fight than swamp beasties." He gestures with his hand and bowed his head indicating a consensus on the decision should be reached.
"Then there's our good friend, Elias. Vinnie and I had a chat with the half-orc he topsy-turvied with that mace of his. Seems there was a girl involved that Elias thought he could get handsy with." Bacarov shakes his head and reaches into his coat for his pipe. "The half-orc, being a good guy, comes to her defense. Elias gave him a pounding for his courage." He holds up a finger and adds, "Not before he'd already decided to get into his cups and start bragging about his plans after visiting Ravenmoor. If the truth was in his drink, he planned on getting the coin, then skipping to Riddleport." Sebastian glances Vinnie's way. "Didn't change our assignment, but might give us some insight if Elias doesn't turn up in Ravenmoor."
I was impressed by how thorough Bacarov was but, truth be told, watching him work was always a pleasure. We had different methods for getting the job done. It was like watching a hummingbird and a sparrow fly side by side. They both got to their destination but in different ways and at different times.
"He got the short of it." I agreed with Bacarov's assessment of the situation. "Apparently the entire village worships Desna. Their festivals are on the full moon. Now, it could just be they like as much light as possible for the evening part of their festivities but the whole situation is twisting my stomach. It doesn't hurt to be prepared with a few alchemical silver weapons or, at the very least, a silver weapon blanche to coat our own weapons with."
I chucked my chin towards the person sitting at the table who wasn't a member of our little group.
"This is Marvene. He's a Cleric of Desna. He was just going to tell us if the goddess of travel had any guidance on which route we should take."
"I think we saw alchemical silver at that shop Remy got us access to, didn't we Dramin?" the monk shifts in his chair to address the mage.
"Frankly, I thought she had better rapport with you, I was so distracted by the collection of strange beasts they had amassed." he chuckles a little to hide his embarrassment at not remembering exactly.
Marvene hardly has time to twiddle his fingers nervously before Dramin and Dalton make their appearance. After their approach, he quietly says: "Well, no, actually, I don't personally know anybody who's been up that way, but... I mean... I guess I could look at a map and pray for guidance... maybe see what the Starsong thinks of your branching paths... all that... but I mean... if it was me... I'd probably just risk the bandits... giant ticks 'n all..."
As everyone discusses what they've learned and makes plans for their departure, the waitress brings around another round of drinks and winks at Bacarov. Marvene looks around anxiously, looking for an excuse to leave but obviously not wanting to be rude about it. If he seemed nervous around Marsh before, he's practically shaking in his boots now that Dalton and Dramin have arrived. Clearly, the Desnan acolyte is feeling out of his depth.
"Yes, thats very plausible. I haven't seen a place that doesn't stock up on silvers. I could craft my own arrows if we came down to it." He pulls out a cold iron arrow from his backup quiver and puts it down on the table. "I don't think alchemical silver would be that difficult to work with or find." He shifts slightly in his seat and turns to Dalton. "Right, Remy. She was a swell lass truth be told. She understood that this ruffian was more than the eye showed and graciously helped us out. Though I must say the menagerie of animals helped the mood."
He grabs the paper on the table and takes a look for a moment.
"Speaking of menageries..." He twists his ring and thinks up a spell, speaking a little under his breath and moving his fingers as to hit keys on a too large piano. "Awarhi." And with that word he gains a Heightened Awareness.
He thinks for a second, pondering whether or not the stirges may have a link in this whole situation with the moon, magic and spellcasts. He tries to recall what he can about stirges and what they may do or mean in large groups.
He decides that it might be a dead end and tries another line of thought, using his natural knowledges instead. Sometimes the mundane is the most extraordinary afterall.
Satisfied with what he knows about striges, he goes on to focus on something that the less learned of the group may have missed. Though he recalls the information earlier about the ticks and bandits and relays the latter back to Bacarov.
"There may be ticks. Ravenous ones at that. If we do head into the foliage we may find what plagued the area with blight and clues to how they stopped it. If this place is a suspicious as you make it out to be it could be a smart move." He doesn't have much of an opinion left or right, "Though bandits are easy enough to deal with and have less surprises."
Dalton blanches at the mention of giant ticks. "We have a similar pest problem in Rahadoum. As charming as the native wildlife undoubtedly is, I think I'd rather take my chances with the risk of meeting humanoid foes." His fingertips drum a few times on the table rapidly all in a row.
"Hmm, while the sound of giant ticks is attractive," Bacarov says wistfully. "...perhaps taking the road infested with lowlife scum may be better."
He considers something Dramin mentions. Is there a Blight in the area where we're heading?
While the others decide to which direction their vote belongs, he taps lightly in Marvene's direction and smiles warmly. "A prayer for guidance from Desna would be welcome, young sir. Why don't you speak to her and let us know her opinion?" It's a small effort to encourage the boy and hopefully smooth his jitters. Bacarov is tempted to but stops himself. The detective is always reluctant to use his gifts. Instead he withdraws the simple map he'd acquired from Stanislov's and spreads it onto the table. "Here you go, my friend. A focus for your prayers."
Marvene nervously takes the map and focuses on it, delving into a deep prayer while laying his hands on the map. As he chants quietly, his fingers trace over the path to Ravenmoor until it splits into the two roads, and his expression grows troubled. Still, he keeps his focus, and after a moment, he sighs and sits back. "Well, I have no idea if I even did that right," he groans. "But I'll tell you the feeling I got- there's danger along both paths. Dark clouds are gathering over Ravenmoor- I mean that metaphorically, of course- and that rain's coming down whether or not you muck through the swamp or hike along the bandit-infested highroad. Sounds like a case of 'pick your poison.' I'll tell you this much, though- if it were me, I'd trust my skills against a human being over trying to fight some overgrown insect or mud-monster any day." He gives a little half-smile of mock reassurance, and adds: "May the Tender of Dreams guide your feet and bring you safe passage, friends. ...On whatever the heck this task of yours turns out to be."
"Thank you, good Marvene, you've conducted yourself well today. Think well of us on your travels, stay the path." Bacarov stands smoothly as the priest rises to leave, extending a hand to shake. "If you ever find your feet wandering towards Magnimar, look up Helios Sunstreaker at the Triodea. He's one of the playwrights and a follower of the Starsong. A good man to know in the city. Tell him Sebastian says good day."
He watches the young man, knowing what it's like to be unsure and new, cast into the midst of those more experienced. His first years on the Watch had been rough as he navigated the waters of those who used their brutish advantages while he was left with his cunning. At the least, Bacarov hopes the kid feels some encouragement.
"So," he says after retaking his seat. "...it sounds as though the bandit road is getting the most votes. What say you two?" Bacarov inquires of Warshawski and Marsh.
Oh, what the hell. I decided to throw the kid a bone. After all, he'd done what we asked. Sure, I could have given him coin but he was hoping for something else as a reward. I wasn't about to give him a ride but at least I could give him a memory. I leans over and kissed him on the cheek.
"Good job, Marvene." I said as I gently nudged him up. "Our paths are taking us in different directions but we can thank Desna we met you."
"Bandit road. Makes the most sense for our wayward tax collector to have gone. If he ran into bandits, we might find his corpse along the way."
"No one goes that way, maybe the trail will show us which way he went. Either way is fine. Might as well kill bandits, the ticks are just tryin to get by. Representin the government it will be legal and we might even collect bounty."
". . . Hum, on second thought, maybe we should go the tick route. The bandit route might mean too many spirits waitin around for Warshawski, just sayin."
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Bacarov gives Marsh a hard look and proceeds. It is time to get the case moving along. "Then it's decided. We take the forest road." He pulls a list from his coat pocket and lays it on the table. "Here's the supplies I've heard tell will serve us on the road. I had some time and played quartermaster."
"That last item's for me," Bacarov gives the collar of his shirt a tug. "All this talk about bloodsucking stirges got me on the mood to protect my neck." He gives a chuckle and drinks his ale. "If we're in the market for specialty items, like silvered gear, I'll pick up 40 of that total to help with the costs."
Pleasantly surprised by your thanks for his services, Marvene blushes- and when Warshawski gives him a peck on the cheek, he grins like an idiot. "Well, thank you for the opportunity to help fellow travelers," he says. "I'll be sure to look into your friend Helios if I'm ever in Magnimar. In the meantime, like any Desnan, I don't like to be tied down in any one spot, but... if you're ever in need of assistance of the priestly sort, look me up. If I can't help you myself, I'd be happy to vouch for you with a more experienced cleric." With that, Marvene bows and takes his leave.
Marsh opened his mouth and stupidity flew out. Again. It must have been an hour that began with a number.
"There are always spirits, Marsh. There are thirteen of them in this bar, right now. Two hovering over your shoulder. I like spirits. They're better company than a lot of the living."
As morning rises over Ember Lake, you all wake, gather up your gear, and prepare to depart.
The trek to Ravenmoor is expected to take two days on foot, half that on horseback; you'll pass briefly through the small town of Wolf's Ear on the northbound path, then follow the Lampblack Trail upon the river's western edge, skirting the edge of the Churlwood until the trail breaks away from the bandit-infested forest, sometime early on your second day, should weather hold. The road will lead around the greater part of the swamp surrounding Ravenmoor, allowing you to avoid most of the environmental hazards. It does, however, cut much closer to the Churlwood than the other path, leaving it well within the territory of the roving highwaymen the territory is known for.
- Normal weather.
The weather as you head north from Galduria holds steady. It is warm out, with partly cloudy skies, and the well-worn trail provides no challenges on your way to Wolf's Ear. That town itself is small and fairly unremarkable, aside from being the last civilized stop before the trail leaves Ember Lake behind altogether. You stop there for lunch.
After leaving the quiet little hamlet behind, you begin the second leg of your trek up the Lampblack trail. The river runs off to your right as you move northward, less than a hundred feet from the trail; the further north you get, the closer the dark, ominous treeline of the Churlwood grows, until you begin to feel almost pinched between the two.
- - - -
As you start to head back toward Windmane, a breeze whips through the wood around you, blowing loose, dry leaves about your ears. The voice of the wood whispers to you:
The others coming to the moor to find a missing one near now. This one should hide should wish to avoid; should ride on beast to meet if choose do that. Brothers and sisters near moor anxious now. Bad wind blowing.
Other two-legs walking near today as well, come from inside wood, from places where dead brothers and sisters are. Bad minds and not friends of wood or fey. Walking meats with bad means and desire things peoples carry. Ride safe if going near, two-legs, for their eyes see far.
Calwen is riding Windmane as she hears the whispers of the forest and decides to play it open. She wants the cooperation of the strangers, if they notice her watching them that would make things more difficult, even though she would prefer some knowledge on the new arrivals. Playing it open is also the more noble thing to do; while her missions often include a certain level of subtlety, she will not hide for what she stands.
As she notices something odd, yet elusive and indiscernible, she takes the shield from her back and straps it to her arm as she looks around and pays attention to Windmane's reactions. Do you smell anything? She draws long sword, which is remarkable massive for an elven work of art, and signals Windmane with her thighs to speed up a little. If they are on foot the tactical advantage will be hers on the road, but she must not stray from it.
Budd:
Dramin takes his time to check out the final Scroll that was given to him by Remy (DC17 scroll) at some point on the road, taking 10 to recognize it.
Before gifting them off he would like to spend some time to scribe them to his book, taking any penalties you deem reasonable. If you don't deem it sufficient time, his older scrolls will do.
(Also I need the levels of the scrolls if you don't mind! I'm assuming CL 1 for the time being).
When he is given a turn to watch at night he is going to slip the following scrolls into the following players' packs, along with an unfinished formula and magical puzzle to spur their interest in magic:
Adhesive Spittle to Bacarov, as he seems the like one to use clever tactics in battle.
Vanish to Warshawski as she needs alone time more so than the others and is more akin to laying low.
Colour Spray to Dalton, as his fascination for all sorts of magic is represented in the multitude of effects in the spell.
And of course, Seducer's Eyes for himself, seeing the irony and the personal nature of the scroll from the eccentric Remy.
@Budd:
I saw my money dwindling! I can only copy one so let me know if you'll allow it and I will do so on the road at any penalty.
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They gather off the road, a minor campsite to be sure, but a place to get their bearings and break bread. With the heat as it is, Bacarov takes the opportunity to pull off his coat and find a seat on a rock. With Wolf's Ear behind them there's only a few more hours of daylight before they'll have to make full camp.
He pulls the worn leather case from alongside his pack. Inside is an equally battered vihuela (guitar). Earlier in the morning, during their departure, he'd brought it out to idly pluck at a song his friend Marcum had learned on a trip to Cassomir. Bacarov wasn't an entertainer, he wouldn't be earning his room and board with it, but it is a pleasant diversion from the darkness of his day job. It's also one of the few times each doesn't mind dabbling in his magical gifts.
Now, as they prepare to pass closer you the Churlwood, he figures they can benefit from any advantages. So he sings a few bars and let's the innate arcana bound to his soul free for just a little while. His voice is rough and gravely, a side effect of the pipe weed he loves to smoke.
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"Hangman, hangman
Hold it a little while
Think I see my friends coming
Riding a many mile"
"Friends, did you get some silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my dear friends
To keep me from the gallows pole?"
"I couldn't get no silver, I couldn't get no gold
You know that we're too damn poor
To keep you from the gallows pole
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while
I think I see my brother coming
Riding a many mile"
"Brother, did you get me some silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my brother
To keep me from the gallows pole?"
"Brother, I brought you some silver
I brought a little gold, I brought a little of everything
To keep you from the gallows pole..."
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Once done, he smiles to himself at Marcum's sense of humor in teaching a Watchman that tune. A quick brush of the oil cloth along the catgut strings and Bacarov packs the vihuela away.
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Dramin looks at the quaint campsite, it isn't much but it will do until they reach Ravenmoor. Wolf's Ear was a disappointment, he was holding onto the hope that everything would be exciting in this journey. No matter.
He looks around the treescape and checks the area and the trees, hoping to know what type of nocturnal animals might lurk around here and pokes his head around for anything in sight.
While he wanders around, a quiet song starts up by Bacarov. Dramin is not normally one for the arts personally, but there is some merit to it as many people even consider the vocals of their spells to be music themself. He entertains himself with the thought and just quietly listens.
He finds a quiet place and starts to study a scroll he has. He thinks on the pros and cons of what he has and decides that at the very least Alarm would keep that ruffian Marsh away from his pack; that and it had tactical merit overnight in this place.
He gets extremely focused in thought in a quiet area to himself and begins his session.
It can be easy to forget that hard people have soft sides. I like to dance. Bacarov can play the vihuela. It was nice to listen to. It certainly made our travel through the woods and the muck a little more pleasant.
Somewhere along the way, a scroll showed up in my backpack. The spirits whispered to me, telling me the school would help conceal my presence... if I could bother to cast it. The magical formula and puzzle that came with the scroll were confusing, too. I dumped the whole mess on Jodare's bedroll. Let him figure the things out. I had enough puzzles in my life already. I didn't need more.
Each night, I performed my obedience to Ashava, dancing under the moonlight.
When we stopped in Wolf's Ear, we checked to see if our quarry had stopped by on his way to Ravensmoor.
"Heh, fittin that you'd play a debtors song when we are gettin ready to get waylaid to collect a paltry one. Still wonderin where these folk are supposed to come up with 500gp livin out in the woods with their stirges. I'll let Warshawski be the one to inform them they owe an exorbinet sum of money, or they'll get hauled off. Farmers probably invested in their equipment or got medicine. Maybe the town master made off with their coin. Or maybe they've paid what they can't afford this whole time, but the road took its due."
". . . On a serious note, you need to tell yer girl that she needs to dance close to camp when we're on the road. I don't want her gettin separated off to far and snatched. We don't need and jingling belts or castanets givin us up either. Precious few women out on that road, you know how it would go for her."
"You can tell'er I won't give her no s&$$ about it, just do her dance quiet close in alright?."
"This town ain't bad if you had enough money to sustain yourself. Nice an quiet little place. Peaceful."
Finally, you see the break in the treeline and hear the strumming of some instrument coming from beyond, and a man's husky voice sings a solemn tune.
- - - -
As the group passes briefly through Wolf's Ear, both Warshawski and Marsh are able to find time to poke around and see if Elias Kyle was seen passing through. Though the locals are fuzzy on the details, it seems that a man matching Kyle's description did indeed pass through this way about a month ago ("packin' a mace and a big-ol' heavy crossbow, he was! Must'a been expectin' trouble, maybe from them bandits that poke outta the Churlwood some days.").
- - - -
As Bacarov finishes his song, Warshawski detects some subtle movement in the foliage nearby. Something- or someone- is approaching.
One of the first things I learned on the job as an investigator was to keep my eyes and my ears open. I'd learned even earlier how to pick out choice bits of news from the spirits that were constantly whispering to me. So, when the soul of a traveler who had been hung from a nearby tree spoke of a lurker in the bush I knew where to look. That's where I saw the leaves move. Subtle but not right for an animal. Or so I thought, anyway.
I unwrapped my scarf from around my waist, holding it loosely in both hands. I made sure the others could see the motion and hoped they would get the hint. This was a time to draw steel. Or prepare spells. Whatever worked.
"Company, boys." I said softly.
To hear the sound of music was a great relief, but she could not help but fear that she lead whatever was following her straight to them. Again she looked around and again she found only darkness. "Is there anything hiding between you", she asked the trees. "Has anything been following me?" She did not really expect a meaningful reply.
She put her bastard sword back into the sheath on her back and motioned Windmane to move forward. "Be greeted, travellers." she called out briefly before she came in sight and let Windmane step out on the clearing. She considered to put her shield away as well and get her flute out, but she was not that sure of them. They might be in league with the stirge-masks after all.
Age: 136
Height: 5' 10'' (1.78 m)
Weight: 113 lbs. (51 kg)
Hair: blonde
Eyes: Blue
Skin: White
Calwen is a well trained, athletic elven woman, though her shape is smooth and her curves slender. Her features are fine, yet soft and watchful, like she constantly marvels at the beauty of the world and at the same time fears for it. Her hair is is straw blonde, but reflects light it in strange ways. Sometimes in sun light there is a sparkle as though snow was caught in it. Her blue eyes seem somewhat cold at first glance, but can be amazingly intense if one looks straight into them.
She usually dresses in white, favours relatively warm clothing and usually wears a snow leopard cape. At her back she carries a very long and lean bastard sword and a similarly made heavy steel shield of distinctly elven making. Over an undyed tunic and pants made of white sheep whool and boots made of winter fox fur she wears a polished elven breast plate, carefully designed to fit her body, offer protection but also emphasize her feminine grace. Bits and pieces of her clothes which are not white are usually brown or pale green.
"My name is Calwen Snowpaw, and I am a knight of the White Rose." she called out in Taldan. Like most elves she found the language somewhat crude and lacking subtlety and variations. But she could cherish the beauty of its simplicity and enjoyed to explore its flow. "Know the shadow of your arrival has been cast long before our meeting, yet your roles in the play this shadow play beneath the trees in the wind, proud and foul alike, eludes me yet. I come to you in peace to ask for your desire and I shall tell you mine. Will you let me share this night, our songs, and this fire with me?"
She holds her arms open, at her side, so that you can see her hands, even though there is a shield tied to the left. She watches you calm, yet vigilant.
"Uumm, sure I'll speak my desire. You are most welcome to share my fire and anything else of mine you might desire."
Marsh winks at the party.
"Things are lookin up boys, we do indeed have company."
He turns back to the Elven knight and gestures to his close companion.
"My names Vincent Marsh and the guy pluckin the cat gut here is Sebastian. The others have names but they aren't mine to give."
"Hey, you play flute? We could have ourselves a concert."
She nods to Sebastian and Vincent from the back of her white stallion and starts to undo her shield, while she maintains serene, noble half-smile and speaks smoothly to Vincent: "I do indeed enjoy to play the flute and believe I am quite adapt at it. At least the last for whom I played did seemed to take delight in my performance."
She kept a perfectly straight face as she spoke and only after she put her shield at the side of her horse and looked to the other three she slightly raises an eyebrow.
The voice that spoke out to us from behind the bushes was music and poetry wrapped together in a bow of desire. I knew it was an elf even before she walked out into the light.
Gorgeous, of course. I've never met an elf who wasn't. Male or female, they're all pretty enough to make a woman's small clothes squishy. That didn't mean she wasn't dangerous, though. Just made her more so.
Of course, Marsh proved where his real brain was the second he got a glimpse.
"So much for not being a soft-touch, Marsh." I muttered. "One set of firm t*@& and pointed ears and you're ready to surrender."
I raised my voice and kept my scarf at hand.
"I mean no offense, ma'am." I was careful to be respectful. She looked the very height of teenaged beauty but she could be a hundred years or more older than me, too. "But we don't know you and this road is infested with bandits by all counts. You could be the honey on the trap. If you're going to join us, I'll insist you peace bond your weapon."
"None taken" replied Calwen, wondering why the woman would hesitate to state her name. The question she had remained yet unansered as well, but maybe she asked it too subtle. "These forest are indeed dangerous, even though bandits are hardly my greatest concern. It is possible that I brought you in danger by meeting with you, but not by my choice. There is something sinister going in the shadows of the trees, as I indicated earlier, and Ravenmoor seems to be at the centre of it. Before you ask me to bind my weapons, answer a simple question and hear me out. What drives you to Ravenmoor? If that is indeed where you're going." she cast a glance down the road which lead directly to Ravenmoor.
She climbed off Windmanes back in a fluent motion, dropped her own backpack and started to remove saddle, bridle, bags and the blanket on his back as she spoke.
The logic of that woman is striking, yet she overlooks that it works both ways and Windmane and I are outnumbered five to two. She wondered for a moment whether the Vincent and she were married. The ways of Shelyn were often more obscure than those of Calistria and the way they were exchanging digs at each other might suggest it. She got her bundle with evidence with one hand and her finely crafted silver flute with the other. "I do have something to show for."
.
"Know the shadow of your arrival has been cast long before our meeting, yet your roles in the play this shadow play beneath the trees in the wind, proud and foul alike, eludes me yet."
Sebastian bows his head respectfully and listens as the she-elf speaks. As his want, listening and observing solve more cases than the noises squeezed from one's teeth.
To prove his point, Vinnie opens his mouth and issues one of his more veiled allusions. Bacarov is about to apologize for his crass friend but the newcomer holds her own in eloquent fashion. The detective scratches at his growing beard to hide a smirk. About time someone gave him a dose...
Warshawski fills in the awkwardness with procedure and logic, a good play when the black-hearted Churlwood coughs up an elvish waif bearing sword and shield. Wonder what this Knight of the Rose business is all about?
¤ (White Rose?)
¤ (id the Taldan accent)
Sebastian rests his vihuela next to his pack, aware that his short sword lay there too. He has his minor abilities in magic, but experience tells him elves are a hearty bunch when it comes to enchantments.
"These forest are indeed dangerous, even though bandits are hardly my greatest concern. It is possible that I brought you in danger by meeting with you, but not by my choice. There is something sinister going in the shadows of the trees, as I indicated earlier, and Ravenmoor seems to be at the centre of it. Before you ask me to bind my weapons, answer a simple question and hear me out. What drives you to Ravenmoor? If that is indeed where you're going." Sebastian plays with the words in his mind and thinks on Dramin's uncovering of rumors a Blight is impacting the lands around their destination.
No harm in admitting the obvious. To do else is to attract undue suspicions. But if there are going to be the possibility of unwanted guests to this gathering...
Bacarov glances to and "Look sharp, gentlemen. If what Mistress Snowpaw says is true, we may have some additional company. Better keep a lookout," he gestures to either side of the small campsite. Especially if that company is in cahoots with the pretty elf here. Bacarov doesn't say the last but he hadn't survive in Magnimar this long by acting the dupe.
Next he stands alongside Marsh and rests a hand on the big man's shoulder. In doing so, he drums a simple rhythm with his fingers, drawing on his innate arcane energies to grant his friend added sight . "Níos fearr scout sí ar ais rian ar an hop. Féach má tá aon rud dorcha..." Bacarov chuckles and adds, "...a leanas as a cuid."
...
"Better scout her back trail on the hop. See if anything dark and scary is sniffing after her. Come back quick as you can."
"I think she likes you, chummeroo. You might have met your match."
To the new arrival he says, "As my friend Mr Marsh indicated, I'm Sebastian Bacarov. The others are Dramin and Dalton." He waves to the Investigator. "Mistress Warshawski and I have been tasked with finding a man who ventured to Ravenmoor a few weeks back. He's gone missing. The others in our group are tasked with the same." He pauses a moment and decides to 'stand the battlements' as it were. He moves slowly to his pack and buckles on his sword and shoulders his bow and quiver. "If you've brought any unsavory characters along behind you, I think it best we don't peace-tie our means of defense. Any chance you could be more specific on this Darkness out of Ravenmoor? Or what might be following you?" Sebastian keeps his tone even and non-threatening, but he's casting his other senses to the surround.
¤
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Calwen turns around and reaches for her shield as Sebastian indicates that something might be out there, but hesitates as there does not seem to be immediate danger. Nevertheless, she picks her shield up and uses it as plate to carry the little bundle she got out of her backpack earlier.
“Strange how fate plays sometimes. I was not aware that more people went missing in Ravenmoor. I have been looking for someone who was lost, too, only that I found him murdered. It has all to do with an unnatural disease that haunts this forest.”
“As to what is following me: I don't know. I've never actually seen or heard anything even though I did notice a presence, but I am quite sure that something is watching me. They are humanoids, they come from the dead parts of the forest, it is evil and they wish to steal things we carry, though I am not sure whether they are simply bandits. Let's just say I have certain, not particularly accurate but trustworthy sources – that would take to long to explain now, I'll get back to it later.”
“Let me explain my findings in detail, for I have a feeling some of it might be relevant to your quest as well and it is hard to say which. Feel free to interrupt me at any time if you have questions or you prefer to skip the details. You probably have heard about that blight that haunts this forest? It has become more and more threatening recently, large portions of the forest die or become twisted abominations of their former self and none of us, who oppose it, can really say why that happens. Ravenmoor, however, is spared from such a fate even though it is right in the middle of it, presumably shielded by the Starsong. Armand, a druid, son to both a human and an elven a parent who fights the effects of said blight, went there to Ravenmoor to learn the rituals that guard the settlement. After that his voice became silent, just like that of the one you seek.”
Her voice sounds accurate, though there is a distinct undercurrent of remorse in it. It's not easy for her to speak of these things. She stays close to you and keeps her voice low, though. Every now and then she looks back to the completely unrestrained horse to see whether it notices anything in the environment.
“I found him a week ago, murdered and hung up in spider silk in the shadow of a tree, close to the dead tree of a dryad who fell prey to the blight. He was trying to bring back life to a dead place which once was a temple to the beauty of the forest, I could see flowers of hope, as little as they were, bloom there. I also found tracks of one attacker and the body of another, a human man, fallen prey to a beast which had been close to Armand. She – the beast – secured this.”
She put down the shield, reached into her bundle and produced a broken and blood stained stirge mask with the distinct smell of herbals inside.
“Here is a sample of the spider silk in which he was wrapped. I also found the following items on the body of the attacker: vials with blue whinnis concentrate, a poison, I got one as a sample, some of the raw flayleaf he carryed, which might explain the smell of the mask, a sickle coated in blue whinnis poison. But the most important thing I found was Armand's journal...”
She produced the items or samples of them as she spoke, though she held on to the journal. “Be careful with the poison. Flayleaf is addictive, I suggest you be careful with that as well, though its effect is limited in unprocessed form. There must have been at least one more attacker, for I found tracks which I cannot explain for certain. It was like there was a single talon claw pierced the ground in irregular intervals next to the tracks. I suspect he wielded a pole arm, likely a war scythe, with a pointy, talon shaped ending. It might have been something else, but the body I found had nothing on it that would explain such tracks.”
“I will read the relevant parts the dead man's thoughts to you, which puts much of this into context, but first I would like to rest for a moment and hear more about your search for a while.” she takes a position between kneeling and sitting by the fire, removes her armoured gloves, and runs her fingers along the fine flute, not so much to play it but rather to touch something she connects with good memories and moments of beauty. Her eyes move between the others.
"Lighten up Warshawski, no need to get all catty just cause your little monopoly got derailed. She stepped out into a five on one, either she's that bad ass or she's already got us dead to rights. Or maybe she's bein honest."
"Don't worry about her mam, she's just jumpy cause she's a tax collector. For those not familiar with human culture, that's right down there with People who clean out chamber pots an at least they are providin an appreciated service."
"Heh, sure pal, I can check our six, but I ain't never seen a bandit that looks like that. Hold that story tellin til I get back miss. I gotta go grope around in the dark an see if I can get a firm grip on our current situation."
+2 vs those with human blood.
+2 vs those with human blood.
+2 vs those with human blood.