Rokan nods, "That's smart. Good idea." Disappointment plays across his features, "But that leaves us with no leads." He shrugs, "Other than hitting the different goblin strongholds looking for information there. I don't know how difficult that will be."
"How far did you track those footprints, Rokan? Perhaps now that we know some of the tribes, we might be able to figure out which way they went - it could cut down on the number of places we have to investigate."
Sonya thinks for a moment. "Perhaps the goblin at least knows how many days they were traveling, if more than a day at all - that could help as well."
"There's five tribes hereabout, like I said: Birdcruncher goblins live the closest, but they're sort of cowards-- more so than most gobbos, I mean-- so Sandpoint usually doesn't have much trouble from 'em. To the south you've got Licktoads, down in Brinestump Marsh-- they can swim like dickens. East in Shank's Wood there's the Seven Tooth tribe.... they like to slink around the cliffs to the junkyard where Sandpoint throws its garbage and fish stuff out of it. Further east beyond them you've got Mosswood. There's a lot of those bastards, but for the last decade they've had some in-fighting going on that keeps them from really being a threat. Last but not least, there's Thistletop: live out on the coast, on an island."
Nisk stands fretting while the group confers, hoping his fate is being decided leniently. "....do any of you want to buy anything?" he asks hopefully. "I'm sure we might be able to work out a... a 'reasonable persons' discount."
Rokan ignores the groveling man. "If we are going to go seek out the goblin village, we should inform Sheriff Belor, first. This town's security is his responsibility, and there's no way for us to know what we'll stir up." He shrugs, his tone becoming hopeful, "We still have Townsman Aldus's offer for the hunt. I mean, if there is no better way to spend our time."
Seraka shrugs. Her bardiche still by the door and thus unavailable for draping her arms, she instead stretches her arms before folding her hands behind her head.
"Blue has a point. Guess a hunt could help warm me up a bit."
"No, no, I think that's all. Thank you for the information."
"Ah yes, well there's that, but first lets get out of this man's shop, he's answered our questions, then we can figure out what to do next."
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Nisk nods, obviously relieved that you're leaving his shop, and offers a sort of toothache smile. "Well.... good luck in whatever it is you're doing, goodbye, please don't come back-- I mean.... =ahem=..."
The daylight of about three in the afternoon assaults your eyes again after the relative dimness of Tander's shop. The sun is shining brightly down on Sandpoint and the coastal breezes are stiff and merry coming from the west, ruffling the hair of everyone in the little group save Rokan. Nature seems not to care of whatever dark business is afoot with goblin invasions or conspirators: the day is just as beautiful as yesterday was, prior to when the violence had erupted.
As you make your way back through the streets of Sandpoint, you become aware that the townsfolk smile at you, that children run a few paces after you in the street, and point and whisper- some of the whispers not terribly quiet. "That's them! The goblin-killers!" or "Look! Look how the gold lady's armor shines!" pass between your young admirers. The adults are not quite so obvious, but still, the head-ducks and friendly nods you receive make it clear enough that your actions of yesterday and even this morning are a source of some gossip around the town.
When you pass the theatre, it's a little more evident why that might be the case: Cyrdak is standing on an upturned wine barrel with a lute in hand, plucking a few strings and singing in a clear voice for the amusement of people passing by, and a few who stop to listen.
'So like a giant come to war
'Strode the lass from Magnimar
'Where her bardiche had cut a name
'On bloody sands of rising fame
'But behind her barely less a stride
'A quah-born warrior, fierce-eyed
'An arrow nocked upon his string
'To bring to goblins bitter sting...'
Cydrak doesn't stop his song as you come into view, but he does grin and offer a wink and shamelessly keep on his playing.
Seraka's expression first sours as she recognizes the song speaks of her, but then brightens as she realizes it's a favorable depiction. She saunters over to Cyrdak and nods approvingly as she listens. She's unable to contain her grin. Nevertheless, she does wait until he finishes to speak.
"Good shit, buddy! What do you call this song? I want to hear it more."
She's heard plenty of patronizing, insulting, and degrading songs about herself over the years, and it was nice to finally hear a praiseful one.
Cyrdak touches the brim of an imaginary hat in Seraka's direction at her compliment, crude though it may be. "Oh, the title's a bit in flux. Saga of the Goblin-slayers has a nice ring though, don't you think...?" he says drily, before turning to deftly catch a copper coin a townsperson has tossed his way.
Noting the door to Savah's armory, Seraka excuses herself to duck in the door-- to find the shop doing what appears to be a brisk business. Four other people are lined up before the counter where Savah is doing business-- displaying a well-made shortsword to a middle-aged man who looks to be more farmer than warrior.
"So this beaut is from Magnimar Smithy, you can see the maker's mark here, and they stress-test a hundred times before sending the blades out. You can run a goblin through with this before it even knows it's cut! Now then, if you're interested in something a little less close-quarters, I have this fine selection of..."
Seeing Seraka, Savah offers a smile and a wink, gesturing Seraka to wait against a wall as she continues her sales shpiel. A few minutes later she's taking a break between customers, and ambles over to the tall half-orc with her thumbs hooked into her belt.
"See you're still around!" she says cheerfully. "Looking for a weapon, Green... or the lady who sells 'em?"
***
When you collectively reach the Rusty Dragon, Aldern Foxglove is easy to find-- he's in the common room, losing at dice (it would seem, judging by his morose expression) to a few of the locals. He brightens at seeing you enter the room, however.
"Ah! Miss Valdemar! --and friends, of course! Did you decide to see about some hunting after all?"
Shalelu is also in the common room-- seated in a corner, her back to the wall and her mud-spattered boots on the table. She's smoking a pipe and watching the exchange wordlessly.
Rokan stops at the musician’s song. He grins over at Seraka in a ‘what is this?’ sort of way, but doesn’t stop the man. When the lyrics of the the archer emerge, he cups his hands around his mouth, lifting up a Shoanti cry of encouragement.
”This man. He knows heroes when he sees them, no?”
Back at the inn, he nods to Aldern, ”Do you know you will hunt with heroes?” He grins, not exactly a sight seen often, ”At least that’s what this village’s singer is telling people.” He grins over at Seraka , ”I particularly liked the part about the giant from Magnimar. I’m sure a few goblins felt the same way.”
He spies Shalelu in the corner, and gives her a small wave.
Sonya blushes red when Rokan hollers encouragement, and waves back to the children gossiping with a smile.
---
"Ah, yes, it seems we're going hunting after all. Let me just get something to eat before we go."
Sonya waves to Ameiko if she sees her, but otherwise takes a seat with Aldern and Rokan.
Seraka tosses him a silver piece.
"Good name! Keep spreading it around and there'll be more where that came from." She points at the silver piece.
Seraka spends her time waiting in Savah's shop perpetuating her image as a tough, brash orc woman. She folds her arms and holds up her chin, occasionally shifts to jangle her armor and weapons, and flexes her cestus'd hand.
The facade melts when Savah finally approaches to talk. Her eyes drift to the floor. Her hands drift to her waist, soon tapping anxiously against her belt.
"Well...uh...I just wanted to come check in. I didn't see you after the attack. Also, never did get that drink."
Should have come and checked on her sooner. You're a damn idiot, Seraka. She finally finds enough focus to bring her eyes up to meet Savah's.
"Maybe after I get back from this hunt thing? If...uh...you're still interested. The drink, that is."
|
E laughs along with the activity of the enjoying crowd. Pulling out his tankard, he holds it upside down and puts on an over-acted expression of shock and confusion. Pausing, he waits to see if any enterprising Sandpointians try to take care of his obvious need for drink.
"Saga of the goblin slayers?" he nods approvingly. "Ironic and poetic justice. Well done!"
At the Rusty Dragon, the samsaran doesn't wait for an invitation, figuring the party is welcome to a seat at the Aldern's table.
"It'd be nice to see some countryside with friends around. I hear there are tiny green menaces to be worried about for solo travelers."
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Cyrdak grins back at the Shoanti approval from Rokan, and snatches Seraka's coin with a little bow. "I'll have to add more verses, good sirs, m'ladies," he chuckles.
Meanwhile, in the armory...
When they've gone though, Seraka's slight shyness reasserts itself; Savah smirks in a not-unkind fashion at the demeanor shift. "You're all swagger til the dancin' gets closer, ain't you, Green? Sure, I'll have that drink with you. I'll buy, even-- the raid was good for business, I have to admit. Tell you what, while you go hunt, how about you keep an eye for some flowers?"
The Varisian woman's smile turns impish. "Pretty girls like flowers, right...? 'course, if you really wanna impress me... somethin' from the hunt'd look good on the wall, too, haha!"
Aldern responds warmly to Rokan's greeting. "I can attest to it with my own eyes-- you saved my life! Of course you're heroes! I'm deeply honored you've agreed to my little offer, ahaha, I hope it will be a hunt worthy of the name... properly you know one should go out at dawn, but there's a lot of game that bed down around sunset that we should be in time to catch... frankly I hope we won't see any goblins, I've had enough of them to last me a lifetime..."
The rich man babbles about hunting in an excited way for several minutes, and while his method of hunting is far too soft and pampered to be respectable among the Shoanti, it seems he at least knows the business end of a boar-spear... better than he does his fancy rapier, anyway.
"Now you must tell me, Miss Valdemar, have you hunted much around Magnimar? I've heard tell of all sorts of interesting things in the woods and the old ruins..."
Shalelu returns Rokan's nod across the room, and pushes out a bench with her boot, a wordless invitation to him to sit with her if he pleases.
Ameiko is indeed present, but bustling around the room with trays full of drinks-- she's pleased to see you all, by her smile, but has little time to chit-chat.
"Yes, I did, but I haven't gone for a few years. Life has been very busy." Sonya replies a bit more curtly than usual - she had been avoiding going on hunts for several years. The last time she had gone was the same trip that she ran off from. She didn't regret leaving, but it still left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Suddenly remembering how annoying this city-man is, Rokan nods vacantly before wandering over to Shalelu. He gives her a shallow, Shoanti bow and takes her offered seat. After taking a moment to order a quick drink, he turns his gaze back on the elf huntress.
He switches to halting, awkward elven. "Shalelu. It is well to be see you. What does bring a hunter to be friends with this town?"
"Not that the effort isn't... sweet, but gods, it hurts my ears when you do that. Human'll do," she says dismissively, knocking her pipe clean onto a plate. "Or 'common', whatever.
"As for what makes me help this town..." Her smirk fades and she shrugs slightly. "Ran into trouble about two decades ago with hobgoblins out in the woods. Group from Sandpoint happened to be the ones to haul my fat from a cooking fire. Some of them are dead now and some of them are old, but I'm still paying that off as I count it.
"...besides that, I hate goblins and their kind like nothing else, so, enemy of my enemy is my friend.
"How about you.... half-human?" she says, gazing bluntly at Rokan's tell-tale ears. "You look Shoanti through and through, except for the bits you can't hide. Did you actually know whichever parent gave you those?"
***
A crossbow is easily grabbed from the family stockpiles for Sonya, and as the afternoon shadows just begin to lengthen, the group sets out the front gates of Sandpoint under the somewhat bemused looks of the guards.
Aldern seems to be intent on displaying his wealth: he's rented horses from the town's stables or any of you who didn't outright refuse, saying it will make for better time, and he rides his own horse, a pretty white mare, in little zigs back and forth across the road, demonstrating her gait and clever footing to Sonya. And, sure, everyone else by extension.
The rich man directs the bulk of his conversation at 'Miss Valdemar', with the occasional aside to Rokan-- E and Seraka get vague smiles and inclusion by default, but it takes no mastery of ye olde sense motive skill to determine that the bulk of Aldern's interest rests squarely with Sonya (however little she may appreciate it).
"....so that's how I secured a very profitable contract on all the raw copper ore coming out of Korvosa, as an Abadaran I'm certain you can appreciate a man of business expertise, you know there's more to getting by in the world then simply the ability to swing a blade of course, a head for figures and the ability to read a market will, in the long term, lead to greater stability than any number of horrible little dead goblins...."
Aldern Foxglove has been trying to play up his good qualities to Sonya since your group left Sandpoint, more or less. That was a half hour ago. By this point, you're into the Tickwood: home of numerous wild animals... some dangerous. The old growth forest rises thickly about you, with game trails serving as poor pathways for a group of five and their mounts, but better than nothing in the thick foliage that would otherwise impede all progress.
Perhaps there's some fresh game tracks to serve as a diversion for Sonya... or anyone else.
He nods along to her quick story. ”Paying off obligation is an honorable thing. Would I know any of those still living?”
At the words ‘half-human’, his stony demeanor returns. His face all but shouts ‘way to ruin a good conversation’, but he exerts his usual self-discipline. ”My father was full Shoanti.” He shrugs, ”I’ve never known who my mother was. The elders said it hurt my father to talk of it, and it wasn’t like I didn’t have women to raise me. A Shrikirri village is like a big family in many ways. Which is good, because my father was killed in a giant raid when I was little.”
Suddenly interested in doing anything but be here in this conversation, he nods tersely, upends his drink into his mouth, and heads back towards the other table. He’d work this frustration off on the hunt.
***
Rokan is surly on the road out of town. Well, surlier than usual. He scowls at Aldern’s prancing horse-work. He scowls at the woods around them as he searches for game trails. He scowls at … pretty much everything.
Luckily, it gives him plenty of time to watch for signs of quarry. ”Deer,” he says pointing towards a meadow. ”And boar,” he grunts, pointing to a pair of trails near their mounts’ hooves. ”Careful, they can be aggressive.”
At one point, though, he stops, his grumpiness vanishing as he looks at the ground. He draws his bow and touches the ground for a few moments, looking into the surrounding undergrowth. ”Firepelts,” he announces. ”Dangerous, but their furs can make good trades.”
Rokan's eyes have been honed by hunts on the great steppes and the woods of the quahs; he bends his attention to the hunt and to ignoring the irritating horsemanship display... and his attentions are rewarded, as he spots the feline prints.
Firepelts can be summed up as what E just called the territory: both beautiful and dangerous. They're known for their ability to hide in wooded environs, stealthy despite their bright streaks of color. Beyond that, Rokan doesn't know much of them.
"A firepelt!" Aldern exclaims, looking avidly at the ground where Rokan is inspecting. "Oh, yes-- what a specimen, look at those tracks!"
(By the way his eyes dart around, you don't think he actually sees the faint tracks you've noticed, Rokan.)
"I was only hoping for a boar, but I can think of no finer quarry! Miss Valdemar, you would look stunning in a cloak of a firepelt's fur, if I may be so bold. Shall we hunt it, friends? Fortune favors those who take risks, no?" the nobleman asks excitedly, his eyes bright.
Sonya listens to Aldern bloviate about himself and his trades, trying to determine how polite she has to be to him for her family's sake - it wasn't usually so hard to find redeeming qualities in the people she met, but she had little patience for people putting on a front to impress. It was one of the things her father was happy she retained throughout her time away.
"Ah, I'm sure there would be other women in town with a better head for style to enjoy that. My options for outfits are a bit limited when they incorporate armor."
Seraka takes heart that her green skin doesn't noticeably flush. She grimaces and turns her gaze towards the wall.
"Heh. Guess I haven't been close dancing much."
She takes a deep breath and turns back, grinning wide. She holds up a fist as she flexes her bicep. "It's a date! You can bet your ass I'll get you the nicest, prettiest flowers and the biggest, rarest game you've ever seen."
She grabs her bardiche and begins marching out the door at a brisk pace.
Seraka pays little attention to the Foxglove man, knowing he is likely to do little but frustrate her. She also finds little need to focus on the search for animal tracks either, trusting that Hundred-Feathers would take care of that. No, instead the almost seven foot tall half-orc spends most of her time looking for flora rather than fauna. Her own lack of botanical knowledge increasingly frustrating her, she keeps tapping Hundred-Feathers on the shoulder to ask him about this-or-that plant's rarity and desirability for cute blacksmiths.
Seraka beams as she hears talk of this firepelt. A chance for a fight and a rare trophy for the lady she's courting is too good to pass up. She raises her bardiche in a cheer.
"More right than you know, Sonya. Hell, I know a lady myself who'd fancy a fine firepelt...pelt back in town. Let's track that poor bastard down."
Rokan grins a determined grin. ”Then let us hunt.”
He dismounts, handing the horse’s reins to Aldus, ”Hold this. Don’t want the horses to startle.” Nor let incompetent city people ruin a perfectly good hunt.
He looks over at Seraka, switching to their native tongue, ”Stow your flowers, Hunt-Sister. We will show these city-dwellers a real hunt.”
Then he stalks forward, starting where he saw the tracks and beginning to follow stealthily along. He moves with a practiced precision. Bow ready. Steps light. Senses alert.
(Seraka does find some pretty looking white flowers with purple centers growing at the edge of a little stream. Easily enough plucked, if she wishes...)
Aldern blinks at the reins being thrust into his hands, frowning indignantly at the back of Rokan's shaved head, not that the hunter notices. He is striding ahead, seeking, all his senses primed. Also cracking the occasional twig under foot-- this damn moss seems deceptively sound-muffling until you find the dead wood beneath!
It's a good ten minutes of following the tracks before Rokan finds they seem to have melted away into nothing, swallowed up by springy moss and flat rocks.
"What language are you all speaking in?" Aldern asks E brightly.
Rokan pauses in his (overly loud) stalking routine to look at the flowers Seraka is stooping to pick. His dark eyes flit between her, Sonya, and Aldern. He clears his throat quietly to get her attention, ”Those will give you a rash on contact.” He shrugs in a ’just so you know’ kind of way. Then continues crashing through the undergrowth.
Seraka scoffs and waves Hundred-Feathers away.
Seraka continues her search for flowers, paying only the occasional bit of attention to this Aldern fellow. She briefly considers a snarky response to his question about the language his clearly Shoanti companions are speaking, but she doesn't care enough to bother.
|
|
"They are speaking the tongue of the Shoanti, of which I believe they both hail."
"Are you not familiar with the languages of Sandpoint's neighbors?
That would seem to be a skill someone of your pedigree should develop."
E shrugs, "Worry not, however. They speak to each other regarding the hunt and flowers. Not much of it is being spoken to hide their opinions. Frankly, I imagine that they would be the type to tell someone directly how they feel, rather than hide behind hidden insults in unknown tongue. Actually, now that I've had the thought, I'm not sure which one would be more pleasant..." he drifts off in thought.
Rokan can't help but track with the conversation behind him .
Aldern listens to E with half an ear, craning in his saddle to watch the hunter moving ahead through the undergrowth. "The Shoanti don't, ah.... have much in the way of processed goods to trade, exactly. I'm sure they are wonderful people well-versed in hunting and... animals and... things-- but if I'm to learn a language, there'll be profit behind it." He smiles brightly at Sonya, as if expecting her to agree or condone his assessment, there. However, before she has a chance to react, there's a sudden blur up ahead in the undergrowth...!
Before Rokan so much as as has a chance to register it, one of the distinctive firepelt cougars has torn out from the brush and is heading for him like a streak of feline lightning. Fe-lightning.
[spoiler=GM screen]
Unfortunately for Rokan, his unawareness of the cat means it is on him before he blinks...
The firepelt lunges forward at Rokan's leg and sinks fangs into his calf, but fails to grab him with the attack.
"Watch out!"
Sonya slides off her horse and rushes to Rokan's side, her crossbow still slung across her back - she instead reaches for her axe. Apparently they were the ones being hunted, and she wasn't taking any chances.
... but she also wasn't taking any chances hitting Rokan in the fray, and swings only enough to keep the big cat off of him.
|
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A small twig falls from a bough above the samsaran, landing on the back of his neck. While it doesn't scare him, it kicks in a small bit of adrenaline. Just enough to notice the ferocious cat emerge from undergrowth to attack the Shoanti. Before even his quick mind realizes it, his feet are carrying him forward into the treeline.
"That's a big kitty!"
Snarling at the incoming humanoids, the firepelt is nevertheless not yet ready to relinquish the would-be predator that's intruded into its domain. The animal snaps again at Rokan!
Seraka raises a fist to the air.
"Battle-Lord! Ironfather! Bestow your favor upon your daughter."
She returns her hand to her bardiche, shifting into a battle stance and taking a step forward. The spell leaves no visible change. Only her proud grin reveals its success.
The savage assault overwhelms Rokan, and he slumps to the ground, unable to maintain consciousness.
He bleeds.
Sonya shifts through the brush, swinging again with her axe at the nimble cougar each time it's about to pounce.
"I'll draw it away! Don't let it hurt Rokan!"
|
|
"He'll be fine!"
Seeing Rokan drop, E jumps into the air and bounces off a tree to change his momentum. Landing next to the Shoanti warrior, he offers a small prayer to Cayden on his behalf.
He pulls out his mug and whispers into it, causing it to glow.
"Wake up, and you can get me a refill later!" he chimes as he clonks the cup's base against the hunter's forehead.
Rokan’s eyes flare wide as E’s healing blasts him back to full consciousness. He grabs his bow off the ground as he scuttles backwards, gaining the space to cast his own healing magic.
Rokan stands painfully up, kicking at the firepelt as he does so.
Sonya swings but doesn't connect, more focused on her defense, while E rushes to the scene with some medically necessary care. Brought back to the land of the living, Rokan stares up at kitty death and risks standing...
...only to run headlong into the instincts of the firepelt, who thinks that her downed prey should stay down.
Aldern looks worriedly over from where he's trying to keep hold of the frightened horses. "Shouldn't you be surrounding the cat!" he calls. "I've read that you can distract them with bright lights! --Or maybe that was strong smells?"
(Rokan might enjoy being unconscious in that at least he doesn't have to hear the nobleman telling him how to hunt.)
Sonya has tried to draw the cat's ire... it obliges.
The Abadaran's defensive stance was well chosen! Fangs and claws clang off her golden armor, but nothing connects.
"Hey Rich Boy...."
Seraka circles the firepelt, keeping her eyes focused on it, only inclining her head back to let Aldern know he was being addressed.
"Shut up and let the warriors do our jobs."
Seraka fills herself with rage. She thinks back on all the little jabs and disparaging looks she's received. She thinks of men like this Aldern, shouting imperious orders as they cower.
She swings her bardiche over her head in a heavy chop on the firepelt.
Seraka's blow strikes like a titan's, and leaves Aldern quite speechless for a few seconds. The leopard is still standing... but that's about it.
Rokan, unconsciously being dragged from the ferocious beast, hangs desperately to life.