On the trip back to Brookside, Mel examined the loot from the orc encampment.
It takes a moment for Perrin to realize that Vors is expecting him to speak. He takes a couple steps forward, his expression nervous but determined. "The orcs, well... there are more of them. We found letters, they're planning on attacking a trading post - and it looks like they're coming this way."
He pauses, takes a breath, and continues. "Someone should probably ride to Astin, see if they can send help. But until then... I guess we're on our own."
Mel, you recognize the weapons as of orcish make. The magic items seem to be from parts of the Eastern coast of the Bishopric of Helm.
Mel watches the proceedings but makes no comment.
Startled murmurs of fear ripple through the gathered commoners. Panic seems to be spreading through the gathered throng. Villagers start shouting
You mean they're going to attack us!?!!
What do we do?
Hide in the woods!
You're losing control of the crowd.
”Good people!” Vors calls out, commanding attention, and trying to call to mind all the officer training he had so many years ago. How to motivate them? ”I know that this sounds dire - we have had little to challenge us but poor weather for many years. But here, in these plains and forests, we have made our home, and it is OURS! NO orc will wrest it from us! We will endure, as we have always endured, and we will withstand whatever breaks against us. We are Brookside! And we are strong!”
The crowd falls silent as your voice rings out across the community... They turn and look to you. They seem very hesitant and unsure but you definitely have their attention. Someone in the back pipes up, half-question, half-challenge.
Strong? What are we going to do to a bunch of orc warriors?
Ay, we lost Cyrus, gods rest 'is soul, but our ragtag band fought agin'em n' won, tho' we were outnumbered n' caught off guard. Think ya then, what our whole town kin do wit' time t' prepare. Not t' say it'll be easy, or witout casualty, but bein' as our other option is t' sit idly by n' wait fer help from the far-off lords, ya best set yer minds t' defense.
Now Perrin, take that breastplate if ya be wantin' it. Could barely breathe in such a thing. I'll stick wit this 'ere mail shirt, once I wash the orc stench outta it.
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The Rock of Blood and the Oasis that Weeps sound like orcish names for locations in the northwest portion of the desert that lies to the south of the Bishopric of Helm. You don't know more specifically than that.
The fourth shield essentially means the fourth Saturday of the month, which was 8 days ago.
The Rush Junction is likely the trading post in question, a relatively small but prosperous post where a couple of roads come right up to a tributary of the Rush River. This post is about 20 miles north of Brookside, i.e. downstream.
With a 14, you don't quite get a more detailed map of the region.
But a more local map of the disposition of Brookside, which you can see by looking around, I do owe you. I'll get to that as soon as I can. In the mean time, there old palisade is about half standing. The terrain around Brookside is mostly farm fields bordered by woods to the south. There is a river that runs through the community with a few homes on the west side of the river with a small bridge over the river. Family homes are the only things there. The villagers have farming implements and 6 hunting shortbows (made by you) and 40 arrows.
Other supplies are food, water, kindling, firewood, some hunting traps, etc. These things you see lying around. Ask me if you're looking for something in particular.
I'm loving this collective attention to detail.
Mel hesitates between speech and silence.
... but catches sight of Goodman Golightly in the murmuring crowd, and holds her tongue.
"Aye, Hirda here's speaks truth of our encounter, and of what will likely come soon. How will we be strong? By holding together, and using the wits and skills of each and every one of us. I know not every arm can thrust a spear, aim a crossbow, or pull a bow. But many can, or can be taught well enough very quickly. Thankfully, our defeated enemies have granted us some weapons for our collective defense, and in the time we've got, we're going to learn to use them.
"For those who can't fight, there are more than enough tasks to prepare defenses all around the city that need to be accomplished. Trees for the palisade, trenches to trip them up and slow their advance. Thankfully, our harvests are mostly in, a blessing, because it gives us what we need most: Time to prepare. We'll be getting the specifics together for who can help with what over the course of the next several hours. If you want to be part of that council, by all means come and talk with me and these other defenders in my barn. You know your fellow townsfolk well, and while we have the measure of many of you, some may be hiding gifts and talents that we can't possibly know about.
"In addition, the good doctor is correct. We will send word to Astin, to recruit what aid we can to support us as quickly as possible. If you've a fast horse, we'll get you saddled and ready to ride at first light."
He looks over their skeptical faces, knowing that he's gone on too long, and nods gravely. "This'll stretch us, and our abilities, farther than our peaceful lives could have ever imagined. And it will transform our town. But when the dust settles, the Orcs will have paid for their brutality with their lives, and Brookside will live on."
- - - - - - -
To each of his companions, Vors says, "Might as well make use of the barn as a gathering place for all this. If you feel comfortable doing so, let's bring the spoils there for now, so that we can secure them. Me and my family will keep watch over 'em for the night."
- - - - - - -
When the conversation there in town draws to a close, the grizzled warrior clutches his wife's hand, and makes for his home and farm. He knows that he'll have to tell them more when he arrives, but for now, he walks in silence.
- - - - - - -
Hirda has gradually reverted to her long-dormant military training. She has a short private discussion with her husband and then provides their suggestions to the rest of the group and whichever town leaders are spearheading the planning.
Vors makes good sense. Noln n' I have some other ideers as well.
One: By all means, send a rider t' Astin, but we can't count on their support before enemies arrive.
Two: We need t' pump our captive fer infermation. How many t' expect, their plans, whatnot. Anybody got th' stomach for that job? Er maybe somebody's got magical help.
Three: Seein' as how we don't know which direction they's comin' from, rebuildin' the palisade's just as like t' impede us as them. We hain't got time t' raise the whole thing anyhow. I say we build a few short sections o' fence to use as cover for archers, n' maybe slow 'em down a bit.
Four: Dig a pit 'ere in the middle o' th' street, wit a trap door. We get a few brave souls t' feign a rout, act as bait t' lead 'em across th' trap. Might dispatch a few of 'em that way.
Five: We got enough folk fer two regiments, one o' archers, one o' frontline fighters. Less split 'em up thusly, distribute what weapons we got, n' make a battle strategy.
Six: Along wit supplies in th' barn, send all the babies n' old folk there, n' set up a medic station, prepare t' treat th wounded. Er maybe another building would serve that purpose better.
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Here's a map of Brookside with some homes and gardens, a rough wooden bridge across the river to a few other homes, and the abandoned old windmill (competing with Golightly's watermill proved a poor idea for ol' Seth Umberly). Each square represents 20 feet. There is an old watchtower which is about 20 feet tall. Much of the actual farmland itself extends outwards from the homes, which were clustered together rather tightly for protection. The palisade is missing sizable sections all along its length. About a fifth of the palisade's roughly 500 foot length is missing with one man day capable of making 5 feet of palisade, given the use of tools and a mule. There are no horses in town but are some mules.
Perrin's expression shifts back and forth between nervous discomfort and fierce determination as the others start to discuss their plans for defending the town. At Hirda's mention of a medic station, he perks up enthusiastically. "Oh, I can help with that! I could bring some supplies out from my room, maybe try teaching people some basic first aid." He looks over at his trusty elemental. "Pebbles and I can also work with the group that's building up the palisade. He's pretty strong, and could burrow underneath to stick the pieces in place. And I've got a spell that could help with the smaller repairs."
He pauses, glancing around as though forgetting something. "Didn't... didn't Cyrus have a bunch of traps of some sort? And I'm sure some other people here know how to put them together as well. We could lay traps in the openings if we don't have time to fix them all up, and it will at least slow down anyone who tries to come through."
Seeing that you have a plan and inspired by Vors' words, villagers begin buzzing around, fetching things, spreading the word, talking fervishly. Several stand around somewhat numbly.
Several minutes later, Goodwife Higgins walks over to you with a few strong young men carrying parts of a harness. She steps towards Titania and says
Well young lady, you said that you all were going to help and I appreciate that. No one else went lookin' for my husband. All were too afraid. So here's the harness and kit he used with the mule, if that's any help to ya.
She sniffs as if she already knows the answer to her question.
Have you seen any sign of my Jeremiah?
Mel pulls back to the shadows and waits for a moment of Vors' time.
The newly-widowed Mrs. Higgins looks at you questioningly while Brookside buzzes with activity, an unusual state of affairs, particularly since the sun has just set.
Hirda shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
As the seconds tic by and no one else speaks, the doctor steps forward, a heartbroken look on his face. Perrin speaks softly. "I'm..." He swallows. "I'm so sorry, but I think your husband is dead." The words come quickly now, spilling out as he pushes through to the end. "The orcs had a beast chained up, and the letter we found said it got loose and attacked him."
A large, lone tear runs down her cheek. She sighs deeply.
Well I figured he was gone. Thank ye for telling me. Anything ye need, the tack, the mule, ye don't ask me. Ye just take it.
She walks away slowly but seems stable.
At this point there is about 30 min until total darkness.
"Vors," Mel says. "May I have a word? Privately."
Vors sighs. The good doctor is - sadly - correct. His was the first loss for our town, and then Cyrus as well. We avenged his death upon those who wrought it, Goody Higgins, and they have paid. I'm sorry that Jeremiah is gone. He was a good man. When our current troubles have ended, I pledge that me and mine will help you keep your farm going, and that it's profits be yours, and you are always welcome under our roof." He tries his best to graciously accept the gear for the mule, and put it with the other supplies being corralled.
- - - - - - - - - -
Doing his best to help take stock of what will help defend the town...
...the good people of Brookside appear to have heard just about enough from Vors Falchen, thank you very much, and would he kindly go do whatever the hells it is he's going to do right now instead of peering in their larders?!
- - - - - - - - - -
Seeing catch his eye, Vors waves her to accompany him and his family to their barn. "What do you have to say, fletcher? Hopefully something to ease the news that we just had to share with," he sighs, "Widow Higgins. And anything you'll say to me, my family can hear."
Mel glances at the small family group and immediately shakes her head. "Not in front of the children," she says.
Vors nods to his wife, Reinala, and his eldest, Kelian. "Go on ahead, I'll be right there. Kelian, get these things sorted, and get the animals as out of the way as you can. Might need to move some of the hay - Vargos will help."
After the family walks off, he turns to Mel and says, "All right, what's on your mind?"
"One of the two orc women in that raiding party was wearing this," she says. She hands him a small bracelet -- a simple string of red and green beads.
"It's a birth bracelet," she says. "When an orc woman has a child, she and her infant wear matching bracelets until the babe is a full year old. The fact that she had one means she left an infant behind in order to come raid us. That is not normal behavior for a new mother. Not for us, not for them. It makes me worried."
Vors is visibly troubled by this. "You're certain? Hmm..." He think for a moment. "She could choose this for many reasons, but they'd have to be dire. Famine in their lands, fear of slavery. Or perhaps an enchantment was placed upon her, and she no longer knew what her bracelet meant."
Sighing, he hands the bracelet back. "I'm sure there's another conclusion I should be drawing, but all I can think of now is that we deprived this child of it's mother. And my fear is that one day my own children will have to pay for that." Shaking the maudlin thought off for now, he asks, "What do you think? What could make her do this? Can we help you find out more?"
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"There is more going on here than meets the eye. Orcs have long raided these lands, but they mostly target parts further east. Most of the magic gear they had seems to have come from there, and the letters referred to hard pickings this far west. They do raid here, of course," she gestures at the palisade, "But so infrequently that Brookside felt comfortable letting their only defensive structure fall almost to pieces. The one of them, this Ukar fellow you killed earlier today, talked about a 'rich trading post' in his letters -- probably Rush Junction, about 20 miles north of here -- but that's awfully far away from their usual grounds."
"And then there's the fact that apparently there were not one but two orc tribes involved. That is deeply unusual. They're a hunter-gatherer society; tribes rarely ally with one another. Finding two of them working together, here, where the pickings are poor, makes me even more worried."
Mel paces back and forth in place, gesturing animatedly as she continues. "I have a suspicion. If I'm right -- sweet Ostara, let me be wrong! -- but if I'm right, then they didn't come here voluntarily. I fear that there is something behind them. Something ... bigger. Nastier. Something that could push multiple orc tribes out of their own lands."
Her voice trembles through the latter part of this declaration. She takes a moment to breathe deeply and proceeds a bit more calmly.
"I don't know what that might be. But ... the shaman had armor made of dragon hide. There are many nasty things down there in that desert they live in. When we speak to the shaman, we must try and find out why they chose to come."
"And Vors ... I think we should keep this quiet. I'm no soldier, but I have read a great deal, and the military histories make much of morale. The folk are scared enough as it is. If they thought this was just the first wave, with more and worse to come, I suspect many would flee, diminishing the ranks of Brookside's defenders and making themselves vulnerable to getting picked off in small groups by the orcs who we know for a fact are out there in the woods now. That's why I wanted to speak privately."
She winds down. Distress has rendered her visibly flushed, even in the dying light.
Vors nods carefully. "All right, fletcher. I'll keep quiet on this with you for now." He rubs his jawline and looks at the last traces of the sunset. "You ever interrogate a prisoner before? It ain't a quiet process. That orc squeals too loud, we might not be able to do much about it if we're here in town. Think we need to do this out in the woods?"
He thinks a moment longer, then says, "Hang a minute - you just make bows and arrows. What's your experience with these tribes? How do you know so much about them?"
"No, I've never interrogated anyone," Mel says. She looks somewhat pale at the thought. "But we have to know. Understanding what you see keeps you alive."
"I do make bows and arrows, yes. But I'm also a scholar. Specifically, I'm an anthropologist. I study societies; how people live, how they form groups. My specialty is folklore -- I'm interested in how the stories people tell one another affects how they think and feel and act together."
"As for my experience with orcs -- I never actually saw one until they showed up here. All I know about them comes from books I've read. The birthing bracelet I learned about from a first-hand account by a woman named Tarsa Willoughby. She got abducted and enslaved by them about a century ago, and the orc women made her wear one each time she bore her master a half-orc child. She was with them almost five years before she managed to escape. She was illiterate, but she dictated a lengthy account of her trials to a scholar up in Iustia named Benson Hereforth. It made for ... pretty traumatic reading."
Vors grunts. "A scholar, then. Look, I'll take your help because you're here, but tell me know - are we of Brookside your latest subject of study? Going to go back to the city someday and tell everyone about the yokels that don't even keep their walls in repair?"
He shakes his head, and waves a hand, "Nevermind, you're here, and you're willing to be a friend and defend our town, so that's all that matters at the moment. You think reading is traumatic, just wait until we start working on this shaman. Let's put your learning to good use, and tell me what I can do to scare this hardened orc badly enough to give up the whole plan."
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"Well, yes, I came here to study Brookside," Mel says, putting her hands on her hips. "But I would never be so snide as that!"
"Do you know what I see here in Brookside, Vors Falchen? I see strength. You have humans and halflings and dwarves and ratfolk and gillmen of all things, all living in the same village, peacefully, side by side. You have your differences occasionally, as anyone might, but you have made a functioning, no, a thriving community out of vastly different peoples. And it's been stable for generations! Do you have any idea how rare that is? I'll tell you: it's like walking along a river and finding a diamond ring lying on the bank. Just as rare. Just as beautiful. If anything, I hope my readers can learn some valuable lessons from Brookside. There is too much hatred and division in the world."
"And yes, I am willing to be a friend and defender of Brookside. I owe Brookside that much and more."
Vors puts up his hands in a placating gesture, "Fine, fine - my apologies, Mel Elden. Guess we here can take a good thing for granted when we haven't known anything else. I've worked to forget the worst that I saw in the army, and so far I've done a pretty good job. All this business with the orcs is pulling up more than I care to remember, and that's making me cranky. I'm glad you're reminding me - it's good to keep what I'm fighting for in mind."
He takes a look back in the direction his family went and makes a you first gesture for Mel. "This way then - let's get our known resources settled tonight, then we'll decide how much work we can get done tomorrow, and where we'll interrogate the prisoner. Gods, I could use a drink. You take whisky, scholar? I know Hirda wouldn't turn me down, nor Nurn. The good doctor, Perrin, I can't recall..."
Vors will swing by his house on the way to the barn, and pick up a bottle of smoky, peaty stuff and a handful of small cups to drink it from. He expects that there won't be much left at the end of the night (what with the dwarves coming), and he's ok with that.
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"Yes, thank you. I could use one. Just a dram, though -- I've a poor tolerance for hard liquor, I'm afraid. And we'll need to be sharp tomorrow."
And with that, Mel accompanies Vors to his home. After the promised whiskey -- and hopefully some dinner! -- she bids him adieu, and makes her way to the guard tower. Clambering up into it, she sits in the darkness with her bow on her knees.
And stares out into the night until finally her head dips with weariness, and she falls asleep.
Waiting.
Everyone declare your actions before nightfall.
As the people of the town begin to disperse, Perrin approaches the other party members once again. "We can leave Pebbles to watch over the prisoner during the night, since he doesn't need to sleep. But one of us should probably be nearby, just in case."
He turns to Vors and Hirda. "Oh, and you both still look a little scraped up. When you get the chance, feel free to stop by my office and I'll see what I can do to help."
When these last matters have been settled, Perrin returns home, but it is a few hours yet before he retires. He stays up in his lab, mixing components and reagents to create bubbling concoctions that he leaves to simmer overnight.
Thank ya kindly, dear. It looks like we'll hafta take our chances t'night. I'll recruit a half-dozen folk t' patrol th' town t'night, n' we'll start bright n' early fixin' the ramparts n' formin' regiments. I could use a few hours o' shut-eye meself.
Now listen, Brookside, whether ya like it er not, we've got a fight on our hands. Go home all o' ya, gather all yer weapons t'night, pitchforks, n' what have ya, try t' get some rest. Come dawn, ya'll bringer yer weapons out 'ere t' the square, n' we'll do some drills, then start fixin' our wall.
Abbi, Joren, Scratchy, Garn, I want ya four t' take turns watchin' from the tower there, start bangin' yer pots n' pans if ya see anythin' suspicious. Noln n' I'll spell each other watchin' ol' Greeny 'ere fer t'night, wid Perrin's frienn.