The horse calms down at Perrin's handling. One of the villagers comes over and leads the horse to be tied up.
Captain Hannady looks Perrin up and down. A healer with fire, eh? Well it's a good thing you are or this could have gone very south. Yes we took a couple arrows there and could use some patching up.
While helping the wounded and moving bodies, you find the following.
7 mwk chain shirts
7 kukris
7 mwk longswords
7 longbows
140 arrows
7 heavy cloaks
12 scale mail
12 greataxes
29 javelins
2 Potions of CSW
2 alchemist's fire
+1 half-plate
+1 greataxe
+1 amulet of natural armor
Holy symbol of Zon-Kuthon
Pearl of power (2nd)
Papers on Ukar
1 birth bracelet
245 gp
Ukar seems to have kept something of a journal for the past 15 years. He records his relatively lowly beginnings as the son of an orc who was more of a craftsman than a warrior. Ukar proved a competent but not particularly striking warrior himself but he spent much time contemplating how he could improve the well-being of his tribe, seeing the suffering of orcs in poverty like his parents. He carved himself a small, wooden symbol of his tribe and hung it around his neck by a bit of sinew. One day, while in battle, Ukar and his wounded companions were surrounded by warriors of a rival tribe. Desperate, he clutched at the symbol around his neck, ready to die. Then he felt the breath of life flowing through himself. He and his companions, renewed, drove back their opponents and won the day.
Ukar used his newfound ability for the good of his tribe but found himself frustrated that he couldn’t do more. One night, a dark vision came to him. The Lord of Pain, Zon-Kuthon presented himself to Ukar and made a bargain: The Dark Lord would give Ukar the power he needed to help his tribe if Ukar became his servant. Knowing a little of such matters, Ukar asked if he would still be able to heal comrades all around him. With a rumbling laugh, the Lord of Pain agreed to Ukar’s request, leaving the orc mystified. But the dread god’s power was delivered as promised, lifting Ukar to the rank of chief several years ago. Since then, Ukar and his tribe have enjoyed prosperity, inflicting their will on those around them. Secretly, Ukar has rejoiced in the prosperity of his tribe but been pained and burdened at the destruction they wreak upon others. His writing reveals the many sleepless nights he has spent agonizing over whether or not he should regret his bargain.
There are also some letters:
Ukar the Deadly,
Your enemies' blood is joy. My message comes to you by this otter. Your words may return to me by the same beast. Too long chiefs fight chiefs. We of the west have no easy raiding of eastern coastal cities. Human lands of the west are too poor and the little wealth has many strong arms.
But may our axes strike together. One of my scouts found a rich trading post with many goods and few arms in human lands. Too far into human lands for one band. If our axes strike together, we take goods. Scout say human lands between here and post have few arms and some meat to serve and some meat to eat. Consider my pledge. Your enemies' blood is joy.
Gornak the Strong
Another letter:
Ukar the Deadly,
Your enemies' blood is joy. Good to hear your response. Do not fear the young bison. It was the only thing at hand but it will only deliver my message and return yours to me because of the magic. Our axes will strike together. We will head into human lands on the fourth shield between the Rock of Blood and the Oasis that Weeps. My scouts tell me woods and hills will meet us first, then a small human town of weak arms. Your enemies' blood is joy.
Gornak the Strong
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Come on, Tom, just let him touch you for a moment and he can heal you," Mel pleads as she continues to work on Nancy Yenwood. "He's a druid."
Tom stirs slightly, next in line and only slightly better off than Nancy. "Yeah? Well he helped his buddies kill Cyrus a few days ago, and then this other tribe of orcs he was workin' with murdered a bunch more of my friends an' neighbors. No thankee -- I'll not accept anythin' at all from the likes of him." Tom's severe wounds gave a grating, rasping quality to his voice that only lent extra venom to his words. Around him the other survivors mutter and nod, scowling at Halak.
"Fine. Halak go sit in barn until tomorrow." He glances at Mel. "Woman. Tell you leader remember promise: Halak fight him to death tomorrow." And so saying he stomps off to the barn.
"What's this about fighting to the death?" Nancy Yenwood asks.
"Vors promised to give him a warrior's death. It was the only way to get him to tell us -- hold still, Nancy, or you'll start bleeding again! -- it was the only way to get him to tell us what we needed to know. He told us when to expect them, and roughly how many there would be, and that they had a karak. That huge troll beast. I don't like to think how badly this would have gone if we hadn't known all that."
The listeners mutter. "Can't say as I like that," Judith Sindal says. "We've paid enough blood. No reason to spill any more of ours. We should hang him and be done with it."
Mel glances up from her work on Nancy. "Vors made a promise, Judith," she says. "Do you think he'd thank you for making a liar of him?"
"... no," Judith says reluctantly. Then her eyes harden. "But I think I'd rather have a living Vors mad at me than have Vors die in some pointless duel of 'honor'."
"I'm not happy about it either," Mel says. "But it means a lot to Vors. He cares about such things. Now just sit quiet there, it'll be a while before I can get to you -- hold still and don't pull that arrow out or you'll bleed to death. It's holding your blood in."
I hope Vors thinks to put a guard on Halak tonight, Mel thinks as she goes back to treating Nancy. Otherwise I'm not sure he'll live to get his warrior's death.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Before turning back into the town, Perrin kneels down to inspect the body of the fallen chieftain. He finds a few potions and pieces of jewelry that he can't yet identify, a pile of papers that he can't yet read, and two more vials of that liquid fire that reduced the karak to ashes.
As he steps back toward the gate, Perrin hears a loud crunching sound beneath his feet. Looking down, he sees a small pile of gravel lying next to an empty suit of leather armor. He bends down and plucks a small amulet from the rubble, slowly draping it over his neck as he chokes back the lump in his throat.
With that, he strides quickly over to where Mel is at work treating the Brooksiders. He joins her without a word and starts to bandage Roger Tomfoot, his eyes never lifting from the task at hand. The doctor continues on in this way for about half an hour, at which point he stands and clears his throat. "Can we, um, gather everyone together? I should be able to heal you all at once."
"There. I've patched you up as best I can, Nancy," Mel says. She wipes her hands on a rag Abigail hands her, leaving bloody smears across the surface.
As Perrin makes his announcement, the villagers turn to look at him, and Mel takes the opportunity to step quietly back and melt into the shadows.
Treading quietly, Mel makes her way toward the smithy located at the other end of town, close to the shores of the Lesser Rush River. But before she can enter, she catches sight of something, almost concealed in the shadows. Walking closer, she sees what it is.
Noln. Lem. And the bodies of the orc raiders, all lying still and quiet together in the chill night air. One of them has an arrow she recognizes as her own buried in its throat.
"Oh, no ..." Mel says. Grief passes over her face. She walks a bit closer. No motion. No hope. Stopping a few feet away, she pulls her necklace out. Once it was her first bow, but shattered; now it bears the holy symbol of Ostara, inked delicately into the surface. Clasping it in her hands, Mel kneels and prays.
"Ai, Ostara! Sweet lady of the flowers -- am I doing the right thing? Perrin genuinely cares about his people. He wants to heal the injured and the sick -- and he can. And does. Is he right? I ... I have never doubted you, or any of the gods of light. But it is a hard thing to see worthy people like these hewn down in their prime. I know that we cannot expect the gods to solve all of our problems. I know that You work through mortal agents."
"But the orcs who assaulted this town were led by a powerful, cunning servant of The Midnight Lord. Where, then, was the holy warrior to meet the unholy? How is it that these good folk who have harmed no one were left to fend for themselves against an agent of Zon-Kuthon? Perrin says that he prayed to the powers of light and went unanswered; that only Haagenti answered his pleas. Yet I fear that Perrin's magic is even now planting the seeds of chaos and madness in the bodies and minds of the villagers. I fear that Haagenti has helped preserve this village another day only so that he can savor its destruction all the more when he twists its people into cruel, heartless mockeries of themselves. I can almost hear him laughing as they tear one another apart. Is that all that is left for mortals -- to be caught in feuds between the gods of evil?"
Mel falls silent for a moment, tears streaming down her face.
"No," she chokes out. "I cannot believe that. There is good in the world. You work good in the world, Ostara. I know it! I know it. But ... if your answer was to send me, Lady ... I am weak, like this bow was. Pull me too hard and I may shatter. I don't know if I have been equal to the task. And I do not know what to do now. So ... I put my trust in you. I suppose that's all we really can do, we mortals. Just trust ... and hope for the best."
She pauses, as if done, but then adds one thing further. "Lady, I know that the Children of Stone are not commonly yours to tend; but if it be fit, help see Noln and Lem safely to their final home. They deserve rest."
She lowers the holy symbol and lets her shoulder slump.
With her half-hearted struggling, Hirda is unable to extricate herself from the vines entwining her, as the horse is led away and the chieftain's belongings rifled. Eventually the magical thicket melts back into the grass and Hirda can move freely. Thank the gods they're paying me no mind. I don't think I could stand any attention, be it sympathy or congratulations or thanks. It looks like young Perrin has first aid taken care of, they don't need my help no more. She tosses her weapons on the ground and makes her way slowly to the edge of the woods. As she heads to the river, she takes a moment to find and spring the untriggered traps. She reaches the river and squeezes around the edge of the palisade. There she can see Mel performing some sort of blessing over the bodies of her fallen husband and son. Thank you very kind of you, but please leave. She waits a moment, hoping to be alone with her grief. After Mel wanders away, she first walks over to the bodies of the orcs and pulls them aside into a heap away from the river bank. Then she drags Noln and Lem to the foundations of the fallen bridge, throwing their weapons into the river. She sits cross-legged on the ground at their feet, crying silently, as the first rays of dawn peek over the horizon.
After finishing her prayer, Mel tiredly makes her way into the smithy. There she spends an hour treating her own wounds, and finally falls asleep on the floor, with her head on her backpack.
During the night, Ostara visits you in a dream of mists. Through the mists she speaks If you wish to right wrongs, read the orc's papers.
Vors' family comes around and embraces him, clinging tightly enough to make his breathing difficult. Finally feeling safe, the tears start pouring. And when one family starts, no one can hold it back. The villagers cluster together, crying on each other's shoulders and holding one another tight. The older folk come out of the homes where they've been hiding, leading the little ones by the hands or carrying them. Perrin takes the opportunity to fill the town with his healing, rejuvenating light.
When the sun begins rising, bright and yellow over Brookside, the young halfling, Nella Yenwood, wanders timidly toward Hirda. She places a trencher of bread and oat mash on the ground near Hirda and sits near her in silence for a few minutes. Then the young halfling lass stands up and walks back to her home.
As the families come together to share in their sorrow and relief, and Mel slips off into the night, Perrin looks around for Hirda and calls out her name. But when no response comes he turns back to the rest of the town, positioning himself in their midst to heal them once more.
This time, when he grips his cold lead symbol, there are no convulsions or shrieks. He simply hangs there, motionless, like a marionette whose strings have been cut. The healing spreads through the crowd in ripples, closing wounds and restoring flesh but doing nothing to repair what's been lost.
When his trance ends, Perrin appears dazed and unsteady, overcome with fatigue. He staggers, swaying, as though about to collapse, and speaks in a low murmur. "Falling. I'm... there's so much..." He sinks to his knees on the ground, struggling to keep his eyes open. "There's something. I need to. Important." He flops over on the grass and curls up into the fetal position, his mumbling voice almost inaudible. "Somebody has to tell her that..." His eyes are closed now, his words trailing off. "...craftsmanship..." The doctor lies there, nestled in the grass at the base of the watchtower, until morning.
When the tears finally subside, Vors gets his family back to their home. Heating water at the fire, and pulling every rag they can find, each does their best to wipe away the blood, dirt, and grime that stain clothing and armor.
---
To the three youngest, Karia, Jael, and Vargos, Vors says, "Thank you, children, for staying out of the way. I know you wanted to help more, and you certainly did by hiding, and leaving it for all of us. Go do your best to sleep - we'll need your energy soon." They all share another round of hugs throughout the room, then disappear to their various corners of the house.
---
To Kelian, he offers a large pour of his best whisky, clinking cups with the young man. "My son, may you never - ever - have to see anything like that again. But if you do, I know that you'll always do me proud. The sword is yours to keep. Keep it clean and oiled, and it'll never do you wrong."
Kelian nods, downs his whisky in a gulp, coughs at the burn, and replies, "Of course, father. How... ah... how do you... No, never mind. I'm going to sleep. For a week, if I can. Good night." He leave the question unspoken and stalks out of the room, his longsword held carefully at his side.
---
When the children have all gone to catch a few hours sleep, he gives Reinala his full attention. There's an uncomfortable silence, as they both acknowledge that one more thing has to happen the next day. One more trial to close this chapter of the madness of the past week. "Don't do it," his wife finally says. "Just let it go."
But Vors shakes his head. "I want to. Abadar knows the scales are already tipped in our favor, and I want to keep them there. But if I just let him out, then he goes and find another warband to join, and we'll be right back here again, only they'll know about everything we can do, and all our defenses. It'll only be worse. I'm going to go talk to him now, make sure his guard is in place. I'll be back soon." He kisses his wife on the head as he passes her chair, then grabs a different bottle and two cups on the way to the door.
The old warrior walks out to the barn, where Hurin, Darba, Taron, and Yilla stand watch over the Orc. He knows that it's only a token defense. If Halak wanted, he'd be out and through them without too much difficulty, "Though Hurin would give the orc a run for his coin," Vors thinks.
He asks the four young dwarves to step outside for a moment, then passes the cup of much cheaper whisky into Halak's stall. The two foes eye each other warily while sipping the drink, and Vors weighs his words carefully. "How did you get out of here during the fight, Halak? That part's missing from my story, and I want to know how the orc I have to kill tomorrow came to save my life tonight."
Halak grunts at Vors' question. To answer it, he growls and causes the hair on his skin to thicken and his nails to blacken and grow into claws, his muscles bulging.
No watch. Was plenty time for Halak break rope.
He grins, showing sharpened fangs, obviously hoping to make Vors uncomfortable at the prospect of tomorrow.
Vors does his best to tamp down his fear at this display. "Of course," he thinks, "I've heard of this kind of natural magic. Damnation - that'll make tomorrow harder."
Grunting himself, Vors finishes his own cup, then pours each of them another one. "Tell me what happens when an orc joins a tribe. What does that look like? How do they initiate you?"
The orc, smiles to himself.
The smile only reaches Halak's eyes. He doesn't seem particularly enthused about the fight tomorrow either. He seems weary and reluctant but is hiding it.
He leans back against the wall, his eyes seeming distant. Orc join tribe by show strength. Many times fight prisoner or beast. How join no-orc tribe?
Vors shakes his head. "No beasts to fight here. Just chickens, goats, and mules. No show of strength butchering those. For some, a place can be made by earning the trust of the town. Like Mel, that archer, she's been here a while, but it's only in this fight that she's really become someone our town accepts. At least, that's my take. Some aren't taking to her as well, but," he shrugs. "I'll get them to come around."
He looks around the barn, grasping for another conversation tactic, anything to distract from what's coming. "Did you eat today? I don't want you falling over from hunger tomorrow before we get about our business."
Halak stares at Vors for a few moments before replying.
No did eat.
Eventually Hirda notices the rustic meal that someone has thoughtfully provided. She takes a few bites, then a long drink straight from the river. She plods slowly back to her home, still avoiding any company. She finds her daughter-in-law and grandson at home, already in mourning, smeared with ashes from the fire grate. Aye me dears, 'tis a black day. Go ye t' the bridge, n' sit a vigil t'yer father n' husband. Know that fer their sacrifice, you n' many others er alive n' free. See me t'night. Go now. She gives them a long and tragic embrace and sees them out the door. Then she totters to her couch by the fireplace and immediately collapses into a dreamless sleep.
The people of Brookside move slowly through the streets in the morning, the pall of last night still hanging over them, the corpses from both sides providing a grisly reminder of what happened. The shaken people look to the strongest among them, hoping for guidance, encouragement, or at least some instructions.
Perrin wakes from his slumber as the sunlight starts to beam over the rebuilt wall, but he doesn't move at first. Instead he lies there, soaked in morning dew, as he stares up past the tower and prays.
He prays that Vors will have the strength to make it through the task ahead. He prays that the people of Brookside will have the fortitude to recover and rebuild and live another day. But he doesn't pray for guidance, and he doesn't pray for peace of mind. Those, he knows, they will have to find for themselves.
When the time comes, Perrin stands up, stretches, and heads back to his home to clean off the remnants of last nights battle. He examines the curious items he found on the chief, poring over each one at a methodical pace. He draws upon a power of understanding far greater than his own and reads through the stack of papers, a pained expression slowly spreading across his face.
Finally, Perrin steps back out into the morning light and begins walking through the town, surveying the state of his neighbors. He knocks softly on Hirda's door but receives no answer, so he continues on his way. The doctor gives a soft greeting to those he comes across, and eventually speaks up. "Think now might be a good time to start burying the dead?"
Vors wraps up his evening by finding another hunk of bread for Halak, and whatever jerky he can scrounge up. Putting his cups and bottles away in the sideboard at home, he then pulls off his armor and collapses into bed.
When he finally awakens several hours later, he has a massive headache, and his body is sore everywhere. Moving about is a chore, but he does it anyway to get out and see how he can help. When he comes across Perrin, he gives a bleary wave, and nods in agreement.
"Eight, aye, doctor? Though we'd best wait for Hirda to give instructions on her family, of course."
Tracking down Aimin, the gillman, he asks, "What burial rites would you prescribe for Strisgar, Sendal, and Orgel? I would like to give them priority, if I can, as you and your kin paid most dearly at the gate."
When the townspeople gather, Vors looks at them and tries to do his best to lift their spirits and provide direction...
"My friends, we have paid dearly, but we retain our freedom. Your losses are my losses," though there are some grumblings at this, since Vors clearly did not lose any of his family members, "And I want to work with you to mend any damage quickly, and chart a new course forward for our town. There are three tasks before me today, and I ask for your aid."
"First, and foremost, the honoring of our kin who have fallen. We shall inter them with honor, each according to his family's custom. We owe them our very lives, and every glory that we can provide for them."
"Second, the torching of our foes. We will not dignify them with more than a shallow pit and a large blaze. When the ashes cool, we'll cover their bones with sod, and the world will forget them."
"Third," he sighs, obviously still tired, "And finally, there is one among the enemy number that is still prisoner here. Halak will dig the fire pit for his former allies, and light their pyre himself, before I face him in combat. When he is struck down, we'll add him to the blaze, and this nightmare will pass."
"The coming months and years will be difficult. There is no way we can replace those who have fallen here, nor should we try. We will mourn, each in our own time, and we will support each other as we adjust to this new reality for our town."
He gives them all a level look, then nods, "Let's be about our work, then, my friends. Let us help one another."
Aimin's gills flare at Vors, which Vors has come to suspect can be a gesture of honor. He replies in his nasal baritone We must bury all of their possessions and give their bodies to the river.
The people of Brookside do have trouble accepting Vors' leadership at first but they remember that he and his son were in the think of the fighting and saved only by chance. The orc blow that missed Vors by luck comes to many minds. And his suggestion of burying the dead is so heartfelt and utterly reasonable that all agree to his plans.
They begin digging, preparing to bury their dead. When the graves are dug, they wait to put the first to fall (other than those who's bodies were lost to the orcs) into the ground, waiting for someone to step up and give Cyrus a proper sendoff complete with the rites he would have wanted.
Anthony Lem, Cyrus' father, slowly steps up to the graveside. He had endured much good-natured ribbing when at the advanced age of 50 he'd married his much younger wife Bethany, resulting in Cyrus' arrival a year later. Now seventy four years of age, balding and frail, his contribution to the defense of Brookside had consisted of helping to keep some of the very youngest children quiet and out of the way while the hale adults worked frantically on preparations.
And one son.
"My son was a good man," he says in a tired, hoarse voice. "Too good for this world, in a way. He wanted nothing more than to help his community. He gave years of service to the city guards in Astin. And ultimately, he gave his life in defense of his neighbors."
The old man looks down, blinking away tears. The crowd waits silently for him to regain his composure. Finally he looks up. "In the last couple of years, Cyrus took to prayin'. I don't know who he prayed to. I don't think he knew, either. All I know is that it brought him some comfort."
The old man pauses again, searching for words, for a way to sum up the life of a son he had never expected to have -- and never expected to outlive. After a few moments, he shakes his head in defeat. "Screw it," he says. "I'm no word smith. Just think kindly of Cyrus and remember he gave his life for his community. That's all. That's all I got."
Shoulders slumped, he casts the first handful of dirt into Cyrus' grave, and then shuffles off to the tearful embrace of his wife.
The other inhabitants of Brookside help in putting handfuls or shovelfuls of dirt on Cyrus' grave. The funerals continue for most of the day.
Halak is brought out to dig a grave for the other orcs. He spends all day digging consistently. The sun is setting and his excavation is not quite large enough to fit all of the orcs yet but he should finish in an hour or so. The karak's body, however, poses a bigger problem. To add it to the pile, the pit will need to be bigger than Halak can reasonably make it in a day by himself. The teens of Brookside venture out into the woods in large groups, still uncomfortable heading into the woods, coming back with load after load of brush and firewood. There is far more wood than needed to burn the corpses of their enemies but the pile grows higher and broader as an expression of the hot anger of the young villagers.
Hirda shows up to attend the last few burials. Her face and hair are smeared with soot to mark her mourning. She is calm but gloomy, exchanging a wordless embrace with some of the other villagers who have lost family members. She finds her dwarven friends, the Rockhills, and talks to them. I could use yer 'elp in bringin' Noln n' Lemuel over t' our back pasture. We kin 'ave a pyre for 'em there tomorry, send 'em up wit ther fathers. Her voice cracks a bit.
After that, Hirda heads back home to talk with her daughter-in-law and grandson. I wish I 'ad fallen there wit yer father, n' very nearly I did, but seems some 'igher power 'ad udder plans fer me. Don't know what them plans are, but it ain't t' stay 'ere, at's fer sure. The farmstead be yer'n now, take good care o' it. We'll be sendin' yer fathers t' the sky tomorry, then I'll be on me way, t' where no one knows.
Perrin watches most of the funerals in silence. He is unable to meet Alice Dorner's eye when her father is put in the ground.
When Hirda shows up he moves over to her quietly and rests a hand on her shoulder for a moment, attempting to heal what he can of her injuries while at the same time sharing this small, superficial gesture of comfort.
After the ceremonies are over he heads back to his lab to get some work done, more as a distraction than anything else. He melts down some of the orc gold and scribes arcane symbols into another small stone tablet. Once the task is complete, he grips the pearl in his pocket and focuses, feeling the magical energy flow back through him.
Returning through the town, he spots Halak struggling with the growing heaps of dirt and steps forward as though to help... then seems to better of it and turns away.
Mel attends every funeral, starting with Cyrus'. She stands at the back feeling awkward and ... responsible.
If I had come to town sooner, I could have warned them, she thought. The town would have had three whole extra days of preparation.
If I had gone towards the smoke in the woods faster, maybe I could have saved Cyrus.
She watches the dirt slowly filling in the grave of the man she failed to save. I have been so wrong about so much for so long. Silence kept me safe. I wasn't wrong about that. But at whose cost? Brookside's. Again!
Her day passes by as a whirl of guilt and sorrow. Grave after grave swallows the people she could have saved, and who saved her. Weary, drained, she turns away from the row of fresh graves.
As she heads back into town, Mel passes the line of orc corpses laid out for cremation once Halak finishes his labors. Listlessly, she studies them.
One catches her eye: it is the archer who shot her three times. The one she shot back at with sharp words and deadly arrows. The one she killed.
The one with a birth bracelet on her wrist.
Reaching down, she slips the bracelet off the cold, stiff wrist, and examines it in the failing light.
"Paska," she mutters. "I won't apologize for killing you. You were trying to kill me, and turnabout is fair play. But the things I shouted at you were needless and rude, even if you didn't understand them. I apologize for those. I hope your child makes wiser choices than you did."
Turning her back, Mel walks back into town, and makes her way to Perrin's office. She stands there a moment, a forlorn figure in the growing shadows.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A patter of footsteps, then the door swings open. "Hey." Perrin nods as though he'd been expected her but looks down, unsure of what to say. "You holding up?"
"I've had better days," Mel replies. "May I come in?"
"Sure. Of course." He crosses to his desk and gathers up the stacks of jumbled papers, gesturing to the empty chair beside it. Perrin sits up on the nearby cot, setting the papers down next to him. "How can I help?"
Mel sits in the empty chair, glad to rest her feet after a long day. "I had a dream last night. I was in a field, I think, but it was misty, so thick I could barely see anything beyond a few feet around me. It was just grass, and mist, and clumps of snow blossoms growing everywhere. Then a voice spoke to me. She said: 'If you wish to right wrongs, read the orc's papers.' And I knew it was Ostara. So ... I came to ask if you have the orc warlord's papers."
Perrin lets out a heavy sigh that turns into a sort of humorless chuckle. "'Right wrongs,' huh? That sounds nice." His eyes flicker down to the stack of papers by his side and he reaches toward them, but then he hesitates. "Before you read these, I'd like to ask you about something." Perrin pauses, struggling to find the words. "What made the warlord a bad person? Like, what was it about him that let us know he was bad and had to die?"
"Well, there's a leading question, if ever I heard one," Mel notes, giving him a keen glance. "But sure, let's play."
"I think that 'he was bad and had to die' oversimplifies things grossly." Mel pulls out the birthing bracelet she just retrieved from the orc archer. "The woman who wore this tried to kill me; and so, in turn, I killed her. Somewhere she has a child, who probably loves her and will be bereft by her loss. I was not willing to give up my life prevent that child's pain."
"But the mother, being a mother, probably wanted her child to prosper. To live and be happy. The path that she chose to make that happen involved killing people in Brookside. Meanwhile, I never sought to kill anyone -- yet I am the one who wound up killing, and I am the cause of that child's pain. The child probably thinks that I am bad and should die -- or will, if Ukar's tribe every learns what happened here."
"And I would do it all over again, because even if that woman had motives pure as the driven snow, that still doesn't excuse the methods she chose to seek her goal."
Vors claps Aimin on the shoulder and says, "It shall be done as you say. Kelian, get Scatton and Hurin. The three of you'll help Aimin get this all settled, but come find me before it's fully done."
- - - - -
When all the Brooksiders have been buried and attended to, Vors heads out to see Halak's progress. When the dead karak yet to be addressed, and the firewood pile growing ever higher for the orcs, he grunts and shakes his head. "Halak, at this rate you'll not be a challenge to fight this night. And I think there's enough firewood that I could fight you in a week and still throw your corpse on hot coals."
The old fighter tries to take the measure of the half-orc as the sun sets, gauging the druid's reactions...
...but still finds the orc utterly foreign.
Halak looks up, his dark green brown covered in dirt and sweat. He stares at Vors for a moment then resumes digging.
Kelian returns to Vors an hour later, reporting that the hole for the possessions is ready and the bodies are ready for the river.
Vors sighs at Halak as his... joke? Not sure what he was trying to do there... just totally falls flat. With a grumble, Vors grabs another shovel and starts helping make room for the karak.
- - - - -
When Kelian arrives, the old warrior nods, wipes the sweat from his brow, and sticks the shovel back in the dirt. "I'll be back," he tells Halak, then heads across the field to town to assist with the gillmen's internment.
On the way, he tries to catch Mel, if she's around, and says, "After this, I'd like a word with you." He then proceeds to the pit and river.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Vors comes to where Aimin, Scatton, Kelian, and Hurin are gathered around a whole. When Vors arrives, Aimin nods at him and shovels earth onto the belongings. Then the five make their way to the river where the bodies off the gillmen are laid face down on the bank. Aimin speaks a few words in his language and then pulls the bodies into the water and allows them to float downstream. He wades back up out of the river onto the bank and puts a webbed hand on Vors' shoulder. Then he heads to his home without another word.
Aimin claps the hand again, says his own prayer to Erastil for their souls, and goes back up towards town.
Perrin watches Mel's face as she speaks and he starts nodding, slowly at first but then fiercely. "Right... right! It's not that simple, but that doesn't mean there isn't a right answer." He slides of the bed and starts stepping distractedly from side to side. "We call them bad because they killed and enslaved innocent people who would have done them no harm. We killed them because we thought they would do it again." He looks back at her and sees the bracelet, faltering just a bit. "Just... try to remember that, okay? What matters isn't whether you're pious or honorable think you're doing the right thing. It's whether you help people or hurt them."
He stares at Mel for a moment, then scoops up the orcs papers and hands them over. A few fall to the ground, and he bends down to pick them up, scanning them briefly as he lifts them up to Mel.
Then he stops. "Huh?" He frowns in confusion, then looks back and forth between the two of them in panic. "Wait. Wait! I'm such an idiot! How could I - ?" He keeps those last few papers and bolts for the door, looking back at Mel only for the briefest of moments. "Sorry, I've... I've got to go talk to Halak."
Then he steps outside and starts walking as fast as he can toward the shaman without breaking into an outright run. "Halak, can I ask you something?"
Halak grunts at Perrin when he enters, wondering why the doctor would suddenly want to talk to him.
Mel blinks in surprise at Perrin's sudden panic and his bolt for the door "Wait, I ... where ..."
"Sorry, I've... I've got to go talk to Halak," Perrin calls back, and then darts into the gathering night, letting the door slam behind him.
Mel stands awkwardly in his examination room with a pile of papers. "What in the name of little green gargoyles was that all about?" she asks the empty room. "Something in this book?"
She looks down at the papers he shoved at her. The color drains from her eyes, letting her see clearly what they say. Turning a scholar's attention to it, she starts reading.
Perrin holds out the stack of letters he found on Ukar. "Can you tell me whether these were written by Gornak?"
Part way through, an idea occurs to Mel. "I need to know," she mutters to herself. Standing, she walks back to Perrin's alchemy lab and opens the door. She studies the demonic runes on the wall for a moment. "Hmm," she says, and then returns to the book and resumes reading.
Halak looks up from his work in the pit. Perrin leans over the edge of the pit holding out the papers. Halak leans on his shovel and stares hard at Perrin.
Why help you? he challenges.
Perrin looks taken aback at Halak's response, and he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, breathing heavily from the sprint. "These letters were the whole reason your tribe and our town fought each other in the first place. They're why dozens of us are dead now, and why one more of us will be dead tomorrow morning." He clambers down into the pit to face the shaman. "But they don't add up." He holds out the papers once more. "If Gornak didn't write these, it means someone else was pulling all of our strings. I want to figure out who, and I want to figure out why."
"Please?" he adds as an afterthought.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Halak looks hard at Perrin as if weighing his words very precisely.
Perrin's words appeal to the loss of Gornak's war band and the doctor is somewhat convincing. The orc looks over at the papers in Perrin's hands.
Gornak write some letters Ukar, yes. He peers at the papers, as if he has difficulty reading. He looks at the multiple letters slowly.
Halak seems sincerely illiterate.
Perrin has no clue why Halak isn't saying anything. After a long moment, the doctor speaks up. "The letters say they were carried by animals. An otter. A bison. Did you see those? Do you know who sent them?"
Flanking it are two runes that translate literally as "to be good" and "to be evil", although it being Abyssal, they have pretty solid connotations of "to be weak" and "to be strong" respectively.
Off to the other side is a symbol that you read as "Boulders of the brook, arise!" although you suspect it might translate a bit differently depending on the dialect.
Finally, directly above the grate are the longest series of runes, which read:
"Do no harm."
"Allow no harm."
"Accept no harm."
Halak is somewhat unsure of the common names for various animals but he nods in comprehension when Perrin describes them to him.
Yes pony and frog both come to Gornak. Gornak send letters back with both. No see bison or otter, though. Ukar send other animals. Gray squirrel one time. Deer one time. Gornak and Ukar send letters during marches. Gornak send letters back with animals. Strange magic but save time.
Perrin nods thoughtfully but with a troubled look. "And one of these says something about your scouts finding a human trading post. Was that Gornak's scouts or Ukar's?