The man perks up at the offer of an escort to the frontier.
"Well, if you fellers are heading out that way anyway, it makes sense to team up, I suppose. And thanks for the offer, but I'll be heading back to the wagon soon, maybe get some stew or something from the kitchen to take back to Chella."
He swallows the last of his beer. "So you must all be goblin-hunters or something, right? Or mercenaries heading up to Kaer Maga. Heh, I know you're not bandits, 'cos I ain't got nothing to steal!"
He plays with his drinking cup for a moment before continuing. "I wasn't planning on hiring a guide. Partly because I haven't got the silver, but mostly because I paid for a map back in Magnimar, and the route looks pretty simple. I spoke to the sheriff here, and he said that there was homestead land up there, but to be wary of the goblins. That's why I put the notice on the board. But if you guys are expecting me to chip in for a guide, I can't pay it."
Graven clears his throat, "No, we aren't expecting anything from you at all. We are goblin-hunters, yes. We are looking to get the lay of the land and such. We saw your notice, the sheriff mentioned something about you, so we figured we'd offer our services."
Gordrun nods, not wanting to draw any excess attention to himself.
Godrun has just finished nodding when he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. A tall, muscled Varisian woman, dressed in worn leathers with her hair tied up in a tight braid, stands behind him.
"Heard you was looking for me. My name's Sartara, and my fee's two gold a day. For that I take you where you want to go, alive. If you die - no charge."
She grins a wide grin that shows bad teeth. Two well-used longswords are tied crossed on her back.
Graven spins when he hears Sartara speak, a little perturbed at himself that he let someone that close behind him.
"Two gold a day. We'll count today and tomorrow we are escorting this man and his family to a place where he'd like to homestead. Here's 6 gold, that will pay today, tomorrow and the next, we aren't for sure how long we might need you. And that's two gold per day flat rate, correct?"
Graven gives Sartara a smile as he pulls 6 gold out of his pocket and extends his hand toward her.
She grins again. "I like a man who's free with his money." She looks at the homesteader. "You're the guy with the caravan at the north gate, right? I'll be there at sunrise. Don't be late, all of you."
She tosses her hair. "People to see, bills to pay. See you all in the morning."
"Hmm. Well, that went rather smoothly. I would have expected to pay somewhat more, but so be it. I won't curse the sparing of our purses." Hern hands three gold coins to Graven. "Thank you for being so generous with your coin. But I must insist that we split the bill."
Hern turns back to Utor. "How's that, then? A guide payed for, and quite capable by the looks of it. Not that I doubt the authenticity of your map, but now if even our cartographic fortunes leave us we should still find our way. Here - five coins, to pay for your tab and anything you may wish to bring back to your wagon." He hands Utor five gold coins.
As the guys head back to their table, Graven looks at Hern. He begins to speak softly.
"Hern, we should probably talk before we come to a point where we might not get a chance. There seemed to be a bit of trepidation on your part to leave the homesteader in the dark. I am not saying you're right...or wrong. But you and I see things the same, mostly. I sense more good in you, than I probably have. But we seem to both value order, some sort of order anyway. I serve Pharasma and her whim. My mission here is to bring to reap the souls of those who have harmed the children. I will show no quarter to them and most likely won't be given any. Where you might hesitate, I will not. I am not judging, it is just what I sense. The good in you...that I don't, maybe can't have. Perhaps I wish I had it. I feel you may temper me. Perhaps I can be of service to you. And to Godrun here.
He faces Godrun, "Godrun, I have no family. I understand yours might not be as close as you might like. And Damien, do not fear my judgement either. I am not holier than anyone Paladin. He smirks and pauses for a moment, his eyes getting a far away look. He shakes his head. "No, I am no paladin. Perhaps this helps you all know me better...or perhaps I just rambled. I do that sometimes.
Graven smiles and takes a drink of his ale.
The tiefling sips at his cheap ale, just waiting a moment to reply back to Graven. "It is good to hear you judge others by deeds and not appearances like some of order does. But that doesn't bother me anymore, I have been to through too much to pay mind to those who don't understand my service to Pharasma. I believe we go about the same methods of protecting souls of the innocent. Though I thank you for seeing beyond the skin I wear." He drinks some more of the ale, "Do any of you think we should watch over the homesteaders tonight, just in case the methods of the wicked could start within the city walls."
"... I understand. You seek to exact what punishment these things deserve upon them. I will not deny you this. I appreciate the conclusions you have drawn of me, but do not mistake this: I am a huntsman. I will track and scent and kill. I have come here to defend those who cannot do it themselves, but I spare no mercy for those who may wish them harm. If it were bandits or other similar villains, I would be more lenient. It is as our patron said - they only attempt to appease their greed. But we do not find ourselves confronting such simplicity. Worse things are at play, and we can spare no second chances with such malevolent folk." Here, as if uncomfortable with the rather somber tone of the conversation, Duncan whines loudly at Hern's feet. Hern pauses briefly to calm the dog, scratching at his ears and underneath his muzzle.
"It may well be that we will disagree. It is doubtful that the first of our problems will be the foes we seek. If we do encounter something that we cannot agree on - well, it could spark some discomfort between us. But perhaps this prior understanding will cool tempers. I certainly hope it will be so."
He smiles at Graven, nodding a couple of times as if to assure himself that he left the impressions he intended to, and then turns to Damien. "If you wish to watch over them, then be my guest. Be warned, that Utor seemed to have rather an independent streak. There's a fine line between protecting and coddling, and I do not wish to cross it so soon. It may be necessary in the future, as the risks become greater. But for now I would leave him to believe that we are just here to hunt goblins. If you do go out there - try to avoid him spotting you."
It is a cold, drizzly dawn that greets the group when they are roused by the staff of the Rusty Dragon from the various straw mattresses and padded couches where they had bedded down the previous night. After a simple but welcome breakfast of broth, yesterday's bread fried in pigfat and steaming herb tea, they head out towards the north gate.
Their guide is already there, inspecting the wagon, making suggestions for securing the various trunks and bales that poke out from under the canvas awning.
Utor listens attentively, while a pale, thin woman wrapped in a thick cloak sits on the running board nursing a swaddled child.
Hern waves at the assembled group. His weapons, aside from his longsword, hanging in its sheath, and his longspear, held in his right hand, are wrapped up in thick cloth and bundled over his backpack. He has covered himself in a sturdy dark green cloak, and he smiles out from beneath the cowl. "Greetings, everyone. How goes the day?"
Duncan bounds alongside Hern, and when they reach the wagon, he frolics up to it and takes to sniffing vigorously about the area.
Graven follows Hern up to the wagon, the tall somber man nodding to those assembled at the wagon.
Graven has weapons sticking out here and there, including 2 Greatswords. He holds his longbow in his hand with his cloak covering his body, head and the pack on his back.
As Hern speaks, Graven looks to the sky. "Cold and raining. Excellent weather. The wagon is going to have a tough time of it, I'd wager. Be prepared to help it out folks."
The small tiefling hides in Graven's great shadow with his scarf covering most of his face and his hood hiding the his horns. While most of his armaments our hidden by his grey cloak, he does leave his longbow visible to make the on lookers believe he is a normal hunter. He looks towards Utor and his family trying to avoid eye contact and murmuring a small pray the Phrasma to watch over them.
Damien stays quiet letting Hern and Graven calm their clients.
Hern stops in his approach towards the caravan, looking at the visitor in mild surprise. "Greetings, friend. You're wise to seek companionship on your journey. These are dangerous times. However, I would defer our answer to the one who sought our assistance in the first place. Utor, what do you think?"
Hern gives a quizzical glance around to his companions, those of whom that know the true intentions of this journey.
Utor, struggling with the bit of one of the rather sodden, unhappy horses hitched to the front of the wagon, shrugs. "The more the merrier, I say!
Hern looks to Utor, and then back at Leon, his face rather worried. This lasts only a moment, however, as soon he is smiling at the newcomer and moves towards the man, stretching out his arm to shake as he does so. "Well, welcome! I am Hern Goff." Here he whistles, and the huge light brown dog comes bounding around the carriage and up to Hern's side, panting as he sits by his master's side. "And this is Duncan, my constant companion. As for helping, well, I'm not quite sure. We've only just arrived, you see? Utor - is there any way we can assist with the preparations?"
Hern gestures around to his companions. "We've been brought on as guards for this young family. Obviously you're not under the same obligation to put yourself at risk for them, but as you seek safety within our group, I - we - expect you to assist in the defense of it."
"Well met, Leon. I am Graven Chandler, blade of Pharasma."
Utor finishes tying off a halter, and turns to look at Satara, who nods.
Looks like we're all ready! he announces cheerfully, glancing solicitously up at his huddled wife and child. "This is it, sweetness! Off to our new life on the frontier!"
He looks around the assembled, slightly sodden group. "Alright then, folks. You lead, I follow."
...
The first few hours of the trek are along fairly well established roads, worn by farm carts and merchants coming into Sandpoint from the surrounding area. The track is muddy, but not too hard going, and it seems that Utor and his wife don't actually have a great deal of supplies, beyond a few chests of clothing, some basic food and a large canvas tent. Thus the two ponies pulling the cart are not having great difficulties.
Satara spends most of the time scouting ahead, reappearing occasionally to check on the group's progress, flash her crooked smile and toss her hair at the men in the group.
Utor spends most of his time in low conversation with his wife, and looking wildly around at the merest hint of noise. When the group puts up a pheasant in a great explosion of feathers and noise, he is halfway out of his seat, axe clutched in hand, before he realises what it is. He obviously lacks wilderness experience.
Sometime in the mid-afternoon Satara reappears and speaks. "The turnoff you want is just ahead. We move off the main track onto onto a forest trail that heads north. It'll be slower going. I've checked it out, but be alert, 'cos if I were going to set an ambush, it would be there."
Graven grabs his bow and begins spending more time scanning the area around the wagon and his companions.
Damien draws his bow and walks low near the side of the wagon, "Understood, We'll be ready."
"Indeed we will..." Hern mutters, scanning the area around them warily. He whistles for Duncan, who, tuned to the pitch of Hern's whistles, pricks up his ears and takes to sniffing the vicinity.
The drizzle returns, plunging the day into an endless grey mist that seeps into clothing and chills the bones. The endless dripping of water from the branches dulls the senses, and the group must constantly prompt themselves to stay alert and not just fall into the routine of placing one foot in front of another. The path twists and turns, forcing those on foot constantly to break formation to avoid twisting roots and deep muddy ruts. Sometimes it is difficult to tell exactly who is with the group and who is not.
The woods, for all their fearsome reputation back in Sandpoint, are quiet, and seemingly unthreatening. Satara reappears occasionally, shakes her head with a grin to indicate "all clear" and then disappears back ahead down the path. Utor is nodding over the reigns, his initial excitement eroded by the rain and the tedium of the journey.
It is sometime after midday, with the group having eaten whatever dry rations they could find in their packs as they walked. Satara has not appeared for a while. The group trudges forward, when Duncan suddenly flattens his ears and emits a low growl. Simultaneously, there is a sound approximately sixty feet ahead, around a bend in the path, and invisible through the trees. A cry of surprise, followed by Satara exclaiming loudly "What in all the Hells..." before her words are suddenly muffled. A strange ululating cry takes up from several directions around the group.
Graven calls out to his companions, "Circle up, can't see far. Utor, see to your family, let us take the brunt of their attack. Hern, you think we should try to get to Satara?" He hangs his bow over his sholder and pulls out his greatsword.
Hern looks torn. He glances towards the area of Satara's disappearance and then back towards the wagon. "We cannot leave the wagon unprotected. Duncan, defend!" Hern points towards Chella and the babe, and Duncan goes to guard near the back portion of the wagon, ears still flattened and looking unhappy about being relegated here when danger is about.
"Our priority is the family. The enemy, if that is what it is, seem to be all about. Let us see if we can progress any farther before an attack, but if no time is left, we make our stand here!"
Hern draws his longsword and shield.
Damien turns to Hern, "Yes watch over them, since bandits like to distract and ambush. I'll move unseen to Satara."
He disappears into the forest before hearing any arguements.
Herne, Leon, Graven and the faithful Duncan back up to the wagon, weapons drawn and ready, while Damien slips away into the undergrowth.
The strange ululating cry continues, but is now punctuated by a strange, semi-melodic sound. It takes the groups ears a few seconds to pick the meaning out of the low, buzzing tune, but it eventually resolves itself into rasping words.
Goblins fed up in the rain
Goblins here to cause you pain!
Smash the wagon, kill the horse
And grab all the shiny stuff of course.
Kill the man and take his wife,
Gut the boy child with a knife.
Keep the girls for Her to see
Goblins come, no time to flee!
The chanting and wailing suddenly dies, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the dripping of the rain. Then, there is loud crashing from all around as several bodies start moving through the thick undergrowth towards the caravan.
---
Up ahead, Damien rounds the corner, to find a small clearing. A writhing, leaf-covered mass in the center of the clearing is presumably Satara - it looks like a large tarred net covered in leaves has been dropped on top of her. It would still not prove too difficult to escape, apart from the pair of strangely deformed goblins who are currently standing on top of it, clubbing Satara's thrashing form as she tries to escape the net.
"Goblins!"
Damien grits his teeth at the sight their guide captured by these vile creatures. He takes aim with his bow at one of the goblin captors and whispers "Inner light guide my arrow." and lets it loose.
Hern chuckles nervously, teeth clenched in a forced grin. "Goblins? You don't say? And here I was hoping it might be just a clever ruse..."
As the crashing in the underbrush starts, Hern moves towards Duncan, planting himself at a point where he can take a brunt of the attack before they rush his dog and the family members in the back.
He barks back towards the front of the wagon, expression turned much more serious. "Utor! Don't let their chanting get to you! We'll lay down our lives before we let them touch you or your family! Just protect Chella and the babe!"