Jam shakes his head at Lino's question of speaking Elven, "Sorry took me long enough just to learn one language... My memory's good though, if you give it here I can commit the symbols to memory and write them out again if we find a translator."
Jamorin furrows his brow a bit, but doesn't say anything when the bandit mentions a partner, the other rider did get away, though Al seems reluctant to say so, hopefully he would not be bringing reinforcements down upon them.
Interrogations always felt awkward for Jam, though he supposed a lot of things did, he generally opted to keep quiet and let the others ask the questions. Though often fairly outgoing as a good messenger he knew when to keep his mouth shut and listen carefully to each word. He did so now, listening for a hint of the bandit's intentions, or any deception in his voice.
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"We're to scout and forage the land immediately west of the Black Caps. We're in need of necessaries, and necessary luxuries for the winter," he grins. "Food, cloth, leather, tools. That sort of thing."
"We're to gage the enemy's strength and will. That would be you."
"Oh. Our tertiary responsibility is recruiting. I don't suppose you'd like to join up?"
At Aljohar's quip about knowing the language of angels, Lino nods her head once or twice and says, missing the humour, "Yes, I suppose it does make sense. You're certainly pious enough."
Linokashtai considers Jamorin's words for a few moments, with a bit of a troubled look. She then nods. "Ah, yes, Jamorin, that's good thinking. I can do the same. Then we can compare notes, and be certain to remember it accurately," says Linokashtai. She stares momentarily at the sheet of paper to commit it all to memory.
"So we are considered enemies, then? And not merely a mark? That's troubling," says Linokashtai, flatly.
Aljohar is almost amused at the man's "tertiary responsibility" offer, then remembers the townsfolk lying still in the dust of the street. She ponders a moment, silently agreeing with Lino's assessment.
"So tell me, why would we want to join up? What's in it for us? You'll have to do a better sales job than a simple offer." She remains kneeling at the prisoner's side, responding as seriously as Linokashtai ever could.
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"I don't suppose my company is sufficient cause? I could certainly use a better quality of comrade. Most of the men are well, men, and of a rather low sort. Not all. A select few are cultured. The elves are positively fascinating. I am not sure if the charm lies in their graceful manner, or if it is the kind of fascination that holds one spellbound when faced with one's imminent death.
"I won't sell you the love of country line that the recruiter gave me when I enlisted in the war. Wouldn't dream of trying. Count Barrabas styles the valleys a bit high in that regard. But they are a home, a place to go where we'll be welcome. This winter we'll have cabins and plenty of food -- if we can forage enough.
"There's the chance for advancement and gain inherent in any military unit. Actually probably a better than average chance. The Count is the best I've served under, a veritable Grendel. Discipline is brutal, but fair."
"It's not much now, but it could be glorious."
Lydia snorts her contempt.
"So you're a gang of thieves hiding in the mountains, and your chief thief is filling your heads with manure to get you to steal for him. We get it." Lydia shakes her head in disgust. "You aren't soldiers. Soldiers fight for people who can't fight for themselves. They fight for the people who feed them. You just raid and steal because you're too lazy to make anything or grow anything for yourselves. You don't fight for anything or anyone but yourselves and you don't care who you have to kill to get what you want."
She spits on the ground.
"Send him back to be dealt with by Lord Winehorn. We're losing daylight hours."
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The man recoils slightly, then groans and clasps his hand to his side. His face turns red and he straightens at the waist. His riposte tumbles out in a rush.
"You may be right. I often fear that we are little more than thieves drawing a veil over our misdeeds, but it was ever thus. I suspect the good citizens of southern Thrane had difficulty distinguishing the thousands of Brelish soldiers from a ravening horde of thieves. And how desperate must the Cyrans have been to gamble on the Day of Mourning rather than suffer invasion by the soldier-legions of Breland and Karrnath?
"We didn't spill blood for a hundred years to protect the noble tillers of earth. To accomplish that all we ever needed to do was return to our own lands."
He slumps back. "Besides, we were trying to get in and out without a fight. Your soldier drew first."
"Our soldier drew first when you robbed a person under his protection and there was no hesitation to cut him down. The expectation that you could get in and out without a fight in a town with so many veterans shows a lack of knowledge of the area, or a complete lack of calculation or intelligence," says Linokashtai, rubbing her chin. "If your Barrabas is truly a 'veritable Grendle' then I expect he did not give you the orders to enter our hometown. And I expect that you had a lesser leader with you to make such a foolish call."
The psion shakes her head and looks troubled still, "I expect your offer would sound tempting if we lacked honour or decency. If that's a comfort. Fighting in war is different than stealing from civilians during peacetime."
She pauses a moment to consider, "Such things are matters of ideology, though. Can you tell us anything about the 'soldiers' in your company?"
As the captive writhes in pain, Aljohar automatically lays a hand on his shoulder, pressing him gently to the ground. "I know it hurts, but try to lie still and not injure yourself further," she murmurs in a manner born of much practice. She quiets as Lino asks her question, but leaves her hand on the man's shoulder as they wait for an answer.
"Bah!" Syrus suddenly interjects, hobbling over to the wounded bandit. Evidently, the topic of the Day of Mourning had touched a nerve. He glowers at the man through the gaps in his bandages, but his sneer remains hidden. "Enough of this Count Barrabas nonsense! It's Shythe, isn't it? Did you think I wouldn't notice? He even sent that bastard Deadshot! And I recognize your face, too!"
An awful lot of assumptions, but the sorcerer does not stop there. "He's just up to the same tricks as always, huh!? Thinks that just because he has a little clout and a few more men that he can call himself 'Count'! Ha!"
"Syrus?" There's no hiding the shock on Aljohar's face. "You know these people? "
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Memories of Shythe and his band come flooding back. Suddenly you recognize the prisoner -- Skinny Slick, and he was indeed one of Shythe's men.
He is much changed in appearance. First, he's lost a lot of weight. Two years ago he was plump, amazingly plump for a deserter on the run. The heaviest man in Shythe's band. (Hence Skinny in his nickname.)
He was not a great fighter, but clever, very clever. Obviously born to the plebian class, he affected a breezy, genteel manner of speaking to make himself seem upper class, at the same time he always made sure never to imply in any way that he was better than any other man in the band. (Hence Slick in his nickname.) He was also amazingly nimble for such a heavy man and could move like a ghost through the woods. Had a knack for hunting and finding food in the wild which made him very popular with the others. He once won a bet in that miserable hungry winter by eating a live mouse. The win was not without controversy because he bit the head off first.
He's harder since you last saw him. He's replaced some of the baby fat with muscle, and the smile he's wearing to charm Aljohar doesn't touch his eyes.
Since you've gone dramatic, let's give you a little more ammunition. Dentor Shythe, ex-Cyran sergeant. Greying brown hair, stiff upright posture.
Deadshot called Yellowbow by the party right now.
Did I post yo you about a sociopathic elf warrior who joined up shortly before you left and immediately seemed to target you? This is a good time to remind you of that if I did, and doubly so if I forgot.
Syrus' revelations don't mean much to Lydia, after all, he was hanging with Thenji who had to do questionable[i] things during the war. But that was war, everyone knew it and everyone understood it. Banditry was different.
"It would seem so," Lydia shrugs. "And it would seem that their leader [i]is just another bandit." She turns a cold glare on the prisoner. "A bandit leading deserters - that's why you can't go home, isn't it? That's why you all need to hide in the mountains and steal from the people: you ran, and you daren't go back."
So many people ran. You can't blame them, it was hell at times, but some lost their nerve and some never had any to start with, and some were only ever in it for themselves.
"As for Deadshot, he's going to be very sorry he ever visited Haltwhistle." The memory of Amanda shot through with those arrows burned Lydia's thoughts.
Linokashtai does not much react to Syrus's admission that he knows these men, just nodding quietly with no change of expression. She tended not to react with surprise at any sort of news in the past, though, always seeming as if she either knew or suspected. In reality, it did not matter whether she knew a thing or not (and in this case she certainly does not), she just preferred to keep the illusion of being informed or connected. It does not look good when someone's talent is information and they know nothing.
"Yeah, I know them. Whole reason I'm here," Syrus replies, still glowering at their prisoner. "Their boss was a Cyran officer - Dentor Shythe was his name. They were small time when I first fell in with them. Thought it was just a refugee camp back then. They had me doing supply runs; goods were probably stolen, but it wasn't hurting anyone from what I could tell.
"Wasn't till I started seeing how sadistic some of his men really were. That son of a b&@~+ Deadshot, for one. Once I realized that I was among a load of bandits, I got the hell out of there. Wasn't too impressive of a group at the time, but unless they're lying through their teeth, they've gotten pretty big. Isn't that right, Slick?"
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** spoiler omitted **
"Yeah, I know them. Whole reason I'm here," Syrus replies, still glowering at their prisoner. "Their boss was a Cyran officer - Dentor Shythe was his name. They were small time when I first fell in with them. Thought it was just a refugee camp back then. They had me doing supply runs; goods were probably stolen, but it wasn't hurting anyone from what I could tell.
"Wasn't till I started seeing how sadistic some of his men really were. That son of a b++~! Deadshot, for one. Once I realized that I was among a load of bandits, I got the hell out of there. Wasn't too impressive of a group at the time, but unless they're lying through their teeth, they've gotten pretty big. Isn't that right, Slick?"
"Mummy?! Whatch you doing here?" Surprised recognition breaks through the man's cool façade. He barks a laugh, then groans.
"You don't know half. Shythe's a beagle puppy to Barrabbas' dire wolf. We're under new management. That elf that chased you off was just the rapier's point. We've been taken over by elves."
Aljohar rises dusting her hands on her robes, looking especially to Lydia and Syrus. "Do we need anything more from him? If not, we should send him back to Lord Winehorn and move along. If they decide to recover him, this is where they'll come. Best we not be here."
"I have little else I wish to know from him, aside from perhaps some information about their squad compositions," suggests Linokashtai. "If there are many who are magically inclined."
"If there were, we would likely have seen them already. If there are elves running things, though, some of them could be spell-slingers," Lydia muses. "I'm done. Let's get going."
Aljohar rummages through her backpack, then starts cursing like the trooper she once was. "Did anybody think to bring pen and paper? I want to send a note back with the prisoner, but I didn't bring any. I hope one of you is more foresighted than I."
Syrus blinks, apparently stunned into silence by the concept of being wrong. Or perhaps it was fear of the prospect that someone worse than Dentor Shythe was in charge. He turns away from Slick, harboring that loathsome thought. It certainly explained a few things.
"Yeah... I'm ready to move on, whenever you all are."
"Of course I brought paper," says Linokashtai to Aljohar, "I have many pages remaining in my journal. Do you need a pen as well? I have ink and a pen."
"I'll scout ahead and see if I can pick up the trail of the one that got away," Lydia volunteers. "Bring my horse along, please, and meet me back at the road.
Survival (track): +tracking scent
Aljohar nods her thanks to Lino and accepts the writing materials. She scratches at the paper for a moment or two, then reads aloud to the group:
Smothers,
We send you one of the bandits we captured. The band seems to have been started by some deserters from the Cyran Army, but has since been taken over by elves. We have not caught up with the wagons. This man was part of the rearguard. The bandits are building themselves a home. It almost sounds as if their leadership is considering some kind of empire building.
This is Skinny Slick. He claims they were trying to avoid injuries and loss of life in the raid. Yet they made no effort to trade or buy, and they came well armed. If you think it useful, you may want to have him testify to what he knows before Lord Winehorn. Otherwise, keep him for whatever trial the town sees fit.
We continue our pursuit.
Aljohar
"Well, what do you think? Did I leave out anything important that they don't already know?"
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The trail to the road provides scent traces that may or may not be Lydia's quarry. They are faint. They are many. And the freshest are those of the party. Upon reaching the road the hunter hardly needs them, because the dirt road is still crowded with traces of the main bandit group. The marks reveal that their pace is slower now. They are walking their horses. Occasional ruts among the hoof prints show that they still have the wagon.
The party is soon remounted and once again on the move.
Linokashtai nods and says, "That is better than what I would have written." She nods to Thenji's request to escort the prisoner back to town as well, adding, "It may be hard to get back in contact with us once you're back, but if anything important comes up, I'm sure you will find a way."
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** Before the split **
Thenji checks the knots on the prisoner before mounting his own horse. "Just keep yourselves safe. Good hunting."
** After the split **
The road is long. The sun is high and hot. Patches of shade cast by roadside trees seem fleeting oases as you ride through. The fields are large and houses, few.
You meet a farmer butchering a dead ox on the road's verge beside the empty traces of a two wheeled cart. A pair of arrows skewer the dead beast's side. He confirms what the road shows plainly enough. "I'd reckon there were 'bout two dozen. Mounted and movin' north. They'ere trailin' a wagon. Didn't hurt me, but the bastards killed my ox. "
If asked he also confirms a rider, galloping fast, came later.
The sun dips to westward. Four ghostly moons wait overhead for their moment to rule the sky. About an hour before sunset, an empty wagon straddles the road, blocking your way forward.
Sliding from her saddle Lydia unlimbers and strings her bow.
"I don't see anyone, but they could be lurking close by. I'm going to scout it out first."
"Killed the ox and left it," Aljohar observes as they leave the farmer behind on the road, "That's a lot of meat for starvelings to abandon."
***
Aljohar remains mounted and on guard as Lydia scouts forward and examines the wagon.
Linokashtai follows Aljohar's lead and stays mounted on Horace, going through the events of the day in her mind and keeping on guard. She places her psicrystal on her shoulder so that she may add its senses to her own.
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The road's shoulders are broad and grassy, flanked by late summer fields of waist high wheat. A small army could hide in the fields.
The party's vigilance proves to be unneeded. Lydia stalks close to the wagon, but it is empty. No wave of arrows flies from the fields.
The wagon is empty save for a few pieces of detritus and a small conical pile of grain with a tail seeds that leads off the edge of the open tailgate and unto the road.
Only horse tracks lead further down the road.
Continuing on ....
Perception:
"Looks like there are more frightened locals, halflings I think," Lydia remarks. "Aljohar, perhaps you should see if you can coax them out? They might know something."
Linokashtai shrugs lightly and says, "The more information we can get the better, of course." The psion looks to her friend, "You may be more suited to being likeable than me, of course, Aljohar. I'll stay back, but if you would like to carry my crystal I'll be able to know what's happening."
"I see 'em. Make nice with the locals, check. Lino, trot forward with me a ways, then hold Raspy for me. I'll take your little bug." And she does that, securing the psicrystal on her shoulder, riding forward, dismounting a dozen yards short of where the halflings vanished and walking to that spot. She calls into the wheat as she watches for any sign of the wary trio.
"Hello? Hello! Are you there? We're trailing some bandits. Have you seen them? Have they hurt anyone? I'm a healer and can help if they have!"
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From the fields comes the answer, "They're riding north. You're just a few hours behind them. Are you really the lord's men? "
With a bit a coaxing and the correct answers to a couple questions about Lord Winehorn's family, Aljohar draws the Halflings out to the road's edge where they stand cap in hand.
"No, ma'am, they're moving too fast to hurt anyone. At least not anyone quick enough to get out of their way."
"How many did you see, and how are they armed? Did they have any hostages, could you tell?"
Karl nods still a trifle taken aback by all the events that've been happening and the thought of trying to confront that many people. For though he's used to the rowdy taverns of the big cities, that many people being easily able to turn on him is a bit unnerving.
However the halflings, prove to be a more amenable group for him; "You did well sir. They were armed? Or did they sport any livery or coat-of-arms?" He asks softly moving up beside Aljohar.
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"Not armored, but they had plenty of weapons. They didn't have real livery, but a lot of them were wearing laborer's clothes or old military uniforms."
*** Sundown ***
The dirt road has narrowed so that only two horses can ride abreast. The horse tracks still cut up the surface. It's almost like a freshly furrowed field.
A short distance from the road slumps a farmhouse behind which looms a barn. A thin curl of smoke lazes from the chimney.
Lydia examines the ground to see if there is any sign and or all of the horses diverted from the path to the farm-house.
Survival (tracking):
"You think they're in there? And if so, what do we do about it?" Karls asks Lydia and the others softly.
"Well, if I were them, and I knew I was being followed, I'd slip a few men aside to take us when we least expect it," Lydia says, rising to her feet from examining the tracks. "But I don't see any deviation here. So, do we see if this farmer will let us sleep in his barn tonight? We can start early and bear down on them tomorrow night with all our spells and preparations ready I am thinking."
"If we can stay in the barn tonight, it will be good, since we will only need to watch the door. And it's relatively defensible, though it would be best to avoid a combat situation altogether," says Linokashtai, considering Lydia's words. "I do not need luxury to sleep."
"Defensible until they box us in and light it aflame," Syrus mumbles, having evidently returned to his usual, cynical self. Having finally broken his silence after his earlier outburst, he pokes a finger through the bandages on his head and scratches his scalp. "Still, might as well I suppose. At the very least we wouldn't be sticking out like a sore thumb."