Chiquq gives Yrja a little nod, moving swiftly to Ila herself. "I can heal her, but thank you...."
She curses when she notices the creature becoming invisible. "Hold it tight!" she yells to Dezso. "Little wretch-- we had better just kill it if it will not talk-- or it will escape to its fellows again."
Chiquq puts her hand on Ila's furry and bloody flank, whispering a prayer to the great Huntress.
Braegan joins the effort to hold the squirming little pest in place. ”Everyone, help hold him. His illusion magic can’t last forever.”
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Dezső is not to be fooled by invisibility, and he maintains a firm grasp and continually re-checks and strengthens the rope binding the fey.
"You will wear yourself out if you keep casting spells and struggling. If you don't answer our questions and fall unconscious, I'll offer you up to Imendri as a snack. He's the one whose sword you turned into a toothpick. I don't think he appreciated the trick. You look crunchy, and, if I'm not mistaken, Imendri's ancestors are right now whispering to him a recipe for stewed fey with pine needles. So, talk. You'll find I'm the most patient of our group, and my patience is running out."
The invisible fey hangs limp in Dez' grip, its breathing ragged.
I gather it is unconscious. On that assumption:
Dezső holds his hands forth, gripped around a roped-fey sized space: "I think it fell unconscious. I don't think we should let it die or cook it into a stew just yet. Does anyone know how to stop it from dying? Braegan and Chiquq, I've read that many people who have healing magic know a simple spell to stop people from dying. Do either of you know that spell? It seems like it should work on fey too."
Imendri walks over and stands above the fallen stag, struggling not to scream while in this state of cool-down. He looks to his left, at Dezső's hands, and spits out in Hallit, "Torngarokrarpok naalaktujunga..."
...and after a moment, Imendri seems to gather himself, apologetically clarifying "Oh... det devil, not yuu devil. Yuu are Desző. Not devil."
Desző looks at Imendri, smiles, and nods once.
"Hmphf. I can try a thing or two. Our healing magic would be better spent on our injured comrades than on this scummy little twit."
Yrja moves to where Desző is holding down the fey, feeling around his hands for a pulse and obvious signs of injury. She cannot help but touch the other tiefling as she does so, which makes her move awkwardly and avoid looking at him.
"The last I could see of it, before it went unseen, it was trying to bite its own tongue," Chiquq says seriously. "If that is so, it clearly will refuse to tell us anything. Something so crazed cannot be reasoned with, and it is all too likely, yet, to escape us. So-- why do you want to let the little foul spirit live? I agree that we should not spend prayers on this evil little creature."
All the same, Chiquq moves to feel for the tiny bound creature's throat with her fingertips. It feels strange to try and hunt for a pulse when her eyes tell her there is nothing there.
"I got it."
Braegan, his hands already on the limp, invisible form, intuitively pushes some of the heat from his body into the little creature.
"Maybe it'll kill itself. Maybe we can still scare it into talking," he mutters as he feels to see if the invisible creature is coming around. "It's worth playing out, though."
Yrja and Chiquq's ministrations do not appear to have a visible--er--auditory or tactile--effect on the fey, but with Braegan's orison, you can hear the atomie breathing more regularly, albeit still unconsciously.
Dezső watches Yrja and Braegan work, oblivious to any awkwardness on Yrja's part.
He responds to Chiquq in Skald: "I agree we are not very likely to get good information from this fey. Either way, its time causing mischief on the material plane has come to an end. We cannot return such evil to these forests. But it seems we must at least try to get some information. We know so little about what is going on."
To the group in common: "I suggest we continue our journey and that we interrogate this creature more when it awakes. I confess we do not really know whether these fey were directly involved in the kidnapping or whether they are merely evil creatures attacking us on our journey. But my impression is that these woods are not normally filled with evil fey."
If the group seems to agree, Dezső waits for the invisibility to fade, then searches the fey for weapons or any other items. He then re-checks the bindings and also binds the fey's mouth. He extracts a pouch and deposits the bound fey in it, leaving an air hole but tying the pouch closed. He will tie the pouch at his waist and periodically check it for movement.
As he is doing so, Dezső comments, "Any objections or suggestions? If you all prefer I can just rid the woods of this odious creature now."
Braegan lets go of the little creature, "I'm good with whatever. I have no idea what could compel the little liar to tell us the truth. Plus, like you suggested, the woods are better off with one less little tricksy killer in it."
Despite his harsh talk, he looks uncomfortable with the suggestion of killing a bound creature. He looks to Chiquq, "So we move on? Anyone injured?"
"Perhaps it will come around later, but I do not hold high hopes. Still, killing it... it is our captive, seems just wrong. Like we are the evil ones." Yrja lowers her gaze, afraid she has offended someone. At Braegan's question, she massages the thigh that the stag has injured. "My leg still pains me, I'm sure nothing is broken, but walking for long... I might not be able to do that."
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Dezső looks with concern at Yrja's leg: "That is indeed quite a blow that foul beast delivered. I am sure Braegan or Chiquq can help you with that. With the dangers ahead, it is unwise to proceed in a wounded state."
He checks that the fey still seems unconscious and continues:
"As for the fey, I think I understand what you are saying Yrja, but it seems illogical. I do not see a great difference between killing it in battle and after battle. And if we had let it escape, or if we let it go now, it will surely harm other travelers or animals in the forest. It tried to kill us and gives aid to whatever persons or creatures kidnapped the Lady and killed her guards, raising the corpses of two of them as zombies. If we were in a city, we could perhaps deliver the fey to authorities for justice. But we are not, and I am familiar with no city that would apply its justice system to a creature such as this anyways. And if a City did take charge of punishing such a creature, it would surely put the creature to death for its crimes. So I have no hesitation in killing this creature, although it has been subdued for the moment. All of our souls will one day find their way to Pharasma's boneyard for a final sorting. Soon this fey's soul will be on its way to whatever plane it is the souls of evil fey go to."
Dezső pauses, concerned that his overly analytical manner might be problematic. He then continues in a softer tone: "But if it will make you uncomfortable, I will of course ensure you are not present. I do apologize if you find this upsetting."
Braegan is moving to help Yrja even as Dezső speaks, the flames from his palm warming her leg as it rights the damage.
"I have a feeling we're all going to have to get used to death before this is all over with." Then he grins over at Dez, trying to lighten the mood, "You sure do have a lot of words."
"Oh, I am not saying to let it go, that would be foolish. It is quite clear that it and the others like it that we have encountered mean us harm." She waves a hand at Dezső in an acquiescing gesture, although the idea is clearly not sitting well with her still. "Kill it if you think it wiser. Perhaps it is. And speaking of the Lady, we should pick up her trail again. These troublesome creatures have caused us enough delay already." She shoots a glare at the stag, now collapsed in a bloody heap, clenching her fists. "I thought you a noble, good creature. Whatever compelled you to aid the wicked fey, I'll never know. I doubt it was worth your life, though." She kicks at the churned snow, now spattered with bright red drops of blood.
She stills again as Braegan approaches and uses his healing magic on her leg, thanking him afterwards. The warmth seems to do her good and her posture relaxes a little.
Dezső smiles at Braegan: "I do have a lot of words. For most of my life, words on a page were my main companion. To travel with all of you as equals, is for me quite a change."
The atomie still hangs like a lump in Dezső's bag--he'll be unconscious for at least an hour, and possibly all day.
There is no loot about--just blood and scuffled snow. The other fey are long gone.
The trail begins to climb a ridgeline to the south, beneath more snow-laden trees. The prints of boots and horses mar the freshly fallen snow on the trail. Someone is clearly about--these prints are from the morning. They go to and fro on the trail.
Voices up on the ridge.
"'E's not going to give us the full share!"
"Wot? It was divvied fair and even, it was."
"Oh, yeh're on his side, are yeh?"
(three different voices)
Dezső motions the group to halt and be quiet. He comes in close and whispers, "I hear maybe three voices on the ridge (). It sounds like they are arguing about money."
Chiquq does not contribute any further words to the talk of what is right or wrong to do with the little spirit-creature. Her world contains no judges, most of the time: a tribal elder may judge, at times, in disputes between members of the tribe.... but Chiquq's morality is by and large that of nature itself: there is prey and there is predator, and things that will not live alongside you in peace must be struck down.
Besides, the little creature is a spirit, a vetr-taka. The way one might treat a man or a woman taken in battle does not apply. She has no objections to the death of the creature.
Chiquq regrets that the stag itself will take far too long to harvest in fullness: dressing that much meat for travel is too time-consuming for their current pressing situation. It offends her sensibilities to waste good meat-- and a magnificent, white hide!-- but there is nothing to be done for that. Instead, Chiquq makes as short a work as she can in hacking the rear legs from the body, as well as chopping the beautiful antler rack from the skull. That is good horn for carving.
She works quickly, spreading her blanket on the snow, scooping snow onto it, and then bundling the rear haunches of the stag into the blanket. If anything about the grisly task, which leaves the snow spattered red, bothers Chiquq, she does not show it. The snow will preserve the haunch meat on the bone, until she has better time to dress it, perhaps when they make camp tonight.
She packs more snow over the body of the stag, trying to cover it, and answers Yrja as she works. "I do not think this was a beast with a mind at all-- I believe that was all the trick of the spirit creature. And spirits can make a beast stand still, or fight, sometimes. Anyway, I will cover the body with snow-- perhaps I might come back for it, later, and with any luck the scavengers will not have taken too much of the meat. It is a shame about the hide."
Chiquq nods warily at Dezso's words. "We might sneak closer?" she offers, though she's not too confident about that. "Ila-- stay."
Ila is a mammoth. They aren't quiet.
"I can't hear anything. Is it more fey? If you're going to get closer... here, for luck." Yrja makes some complicated gesture with one hand as the other hand touches Chiquq and Dezső on the forehead. "Bonŝancon en viaj klopodoj", she mutters.
Braegan stands uncertainly, clearly frustrated at his inability to hear or see what's going on. He puts a hand on the mammoth's flank, whether it's to give or draw strength ... who knows?
"Be careful," he mutters.
Now that Dez points it out, the others can hear some faint argument sounds from up the rise. The quarrel seems to be in full fettle; the folks up there are distracted.
Whispering: "I suggest all of us, perhaps save Ila, try to sneak up there. It seems risky for only two of us to go."
Yrja takes a look down at her colourful cloak, then shrugs out of it, turning it inside out. The dirty white of the fur lining would perhaps blend in better with their surroundings.
Whispering back: "I'm ready."
Ila whuffs and... stays.
Giving a small, only-a-little-reluctant nod to Yrja for her 'luck', Chiquq tries to slip quietly through the snow, up the hill towards the ridge.
"I'll go halfway," Braegan responds in his own whisper, "I don't usually sneak much."
Dezső leaves his pack with Ila and takes off his armored coat, slinging it over his shoulder. Whispering: "I can put this back on fast, and I'll move a lot quieter without it on."
He hands his sword to Yrja and asks quietly, "Could you please stay right behind me and hand this to me when I ask? It will save me the time of drawing it to enter the fight."
He has his loaded crossbow in his hand as he follows Chiquq up the ridge.
Imendri takes notice of the group and their attempts to be stealthy. He chuckles and attempts to mimic their movements.
...and he seems to wear the weight of his armor and shield well, all things considered. He sidles up as quickly as he can go j while remaining quiet.
There are three bandits each carrying bows and swords and wearing what look like Northern furs to the Kellids and Ulfen, but their accents are clearly Taldan--local, even.
The donkey is not very inclined to follow Yrja up the slope, but the girl ties its lead to a low-hanging branch just the same before following the others to the ridge. She receives the sword from Dezső, the weight of it strange and unfamiliar in her gloved hands. As the strangers come in view, she glances at the others for clues on what to do, resolves to wait until something happens. Should one of them act with hostility towards her or her new friends, she will do her best to put them down.
Chiquq gazes at the three men then back at Yrja, pointing at the one nearest her, the man in the hooded cloak. Perhaps the devil-woman can do the little trick that she did before, making them sleep... for her part, Chiquq looses her spear and prepares to swing at the hooded archer. With one hand she holds up one finger, two fingers, then three.... dropping that hand forward decisively.
Braegan moves a bit closer, wanting to make sure he can be in a good position should the blades come out. He stops and looks questioningly at the men, then at the team.
He gets his teammates attention, then mouths. 'Talk or fight?'
Chiquq responds with a blink at Braegan, and holds up the spear she is gripping in both hands in answer.
Dezső follows Chiquq's lead and points his crossbow at one of the men.
Imendri sets his pack down on the ground and sidles up beside his cousin, quietly drawing his blade as he moves. Beads of sweat nestle in his eyebrows, but his face remains calm, almost childlike. With a nod to Chiquq, he appears ready for anything.
Round 1 - Yer Surprise Attack
Yrja
Imendri
Braegan
Dezső
Chiquq
The raiders continue to be unaware of your presence, and continue to squabble. "'sbeen different since them others come around," grumbles the woman in a throaty voice. "Aye, and better pickin's; don't complain," says the larger of the two men.
Silent as a wolf from the snows, Chiquq strikes! Her spear lashes out towards the male archer.
Yrja's fingers make a complicated gesture as she hexes the larger of the men.
Dezső carefully aims at one of these miscreants, who are clearly up to no good. He fires at the man 10 feet to the right of Imendri:
Dezső also uses his tail to gently probe the outside of the pouch where the fey is captive, to confirm that the fey still seems to be unconscious.
In tandem with Yrja, Imendri strikes a savage blow against one of the men she is not hexing.