Vashta continues her minimal efforts at pulling the rope.
This is embarrassing. They're too far away for any of my spells. The grimoire must have more spells that would be useful. I need to figure it out!
Storn continues to strain at the ropes, the enormous warpriest's face turning purple from the effort.
Storn gave another mighty heave, and the rest followed. As they pulled, Molly's hex did its work and the militia's footing slipped. Yelena hauled, trying to keep things moving on their end, but still Ruby's team pulled the militia along.
'When it works, be glad it works and go with it. When it doesn't... think of something new.'
Molly uses her Evil Eye on another target as she continues to haul on her end of the rope.
Mariana returns to using her luck. Unsure what else she can do in order to push her team, she holds off for as long as they are winning. If the tide turns...she has a plan. But only if...
With one final heave, Storn and the others pulled, just as Molly's hex caused a cramp in Kurst's hand. The militia team was pulled across the line and a huge cheer went out from the crowd. Storn lifted Ruby up high in the air to let he revel in her victory before placing he back on her feet and shrinking back to normal size.
Rodrik and Kurst walk over to clap Ruby on the shoulders and congratulate her. "And your team was amazing too. Good thing we had Carrin in the crowd to cancel that spell. And Storn! I thought you were big and loud in your normal form. We could use you in the militia, like Yelena here. I know Quill and Vashta, but who are these resourceful ladies?" He gestured to Molly and Mariana. "I am Rodrik, and this is my brother Kurst. I am glad you could witness the hopeknife ceremony, as it is one of the most important things in a Trunau native's life."
Kurst broke in. "My brother only says that because he really thinks he is the most important thing in Trunau." His brother elbowed him, with a grin on his face. "In fact, the only reason Ruby won so easily was because Rodrik here had writers cramp from penning his poems."
Rodrik laughed a hearty laugh and asked, "Have you met Yelena? She is a worthy addition to the militia, and Ruby desperately wanted her on her team. I couldn't let her have that big of an advantage, though. Here, let's have a drink to celebrate your win."
As he steered you over towards where the ale and wine casks are stacked, Ruby ran off to participate in some of the other games going on.
"Oh, you might say I'm extended kin to your town," Molly says, grinning easily at both Rodrik and Kurst and sizing them up. "Molly Blackfoot, cousin to Jenk Blackfoot, your fellow warrior. It's a shame to fight my own blood, but at least it wasn't to shed blood. So, how's this town doing for victory beer? I figure if Ruby's an adult now, she's ready to share a pint with her team. How about it, Ruby?"
Storn hoists Ruby into the air on his shoulders, parading her around as she celebrates.
and Ruby... awh." Storn feels his spell wearing off and sets Ruby back on the ground with some gentleness as he shrinks back to his regular size. He greets Rodrik, Kurst, and Yelena as they approach.
"Well met to all of you! A good contest; I agree that your poetry was our undoing." He turns to the others on his team, showing a yellow-toothed grin. "I am Storn of Gorum, son of Koguth. Let's get drunk."
|
Quill almost drops the rope in surprise and too early, but recovers enough to finish pulling before celebrating.
"Ruby, you did it!! FIST BUMP!!!" Quill offers a fist, waiting for Ruby to complete the Lastwall Fist Bump, a tradition he has been doing ever since he learned about the ritual greeting from amongst the warriors of Lastwall.
He smiles broadly, clearly enjoying his acceptance in the community and remembering his own day of coming of age. He walks over to Yelena.
"Wow...I don't think I've ever beaten you at anything ever," Quill chirps. "And you guys were good too."
Quill offers a Lastwall Fist Bump to Storn, Molly, Mariana, and Vashta.
Molly glances at Quill's fist, blinks -- then eels past his fist and lightly presses her lips against his.
"I've had my fill of manly muscle-flexing and sweating for one day," she says, eyes sparkling and a mischievous grin on her lips. "This is a nice way to congratulate folks 'n all, isn't it?"
Chuckling lightly, the Kellid girl sways towards the beer tent.
Vashta laughs at the quick kiss, and Quill's expression afterward, as she lightly touches his fist with her own, imitating the others' gestures.
"A drink could be good. But where is this Carrin? I want to talk to her about how she countered my spell!"
She seems distracted and not as happy as the rest of her companions as she trails the group toward the tavern.
"I suppose it was magic, making him bigger, that let us win," she mutters.
"I've been here for a few years," she says, in a guarded voice.
"And, yes, that was me. I have some powers of magic at my command,"[/]b she adds, pride obvious in her voice. [b]"A good spell should beat a good sword every time. I wish I knew how it was blocked the first time, though. That should not have happened!"
She continues to look around for the mysterious Carrin.
|
|
"I've been here a few years,"
Quill's face flusters, confused & embarrassed.
"Oh, I'm sorry...I thought, I dunno...uh...I just didn't recognize you. I'm often working though..and I don't drink that often. So..sorry," Quill stammers, his face contorts with inner rage.
Stupid! STUPID! STUPID QUILL!
"Yeah..." Quill looks around awkwardly...as if looking for an escape.
Perception - looking for Carrin to point her out to Vashta
"You are mighty, Yelena! And my people brew mead but I'm never one to be picky. If you drink like you pull, I will follow your lead." Storn then glances over at Quill's offered fist. He turns to fully regard the elf, staring at the fist for a long moment.
What is this? Does she want to fight? No, it's just being offered like a treat. Am I to remove the fist? That would be strange, we won and I am due no forfeit. Elves are so strange. When learning the ways of a new people, it is best to mimic their ways.
Storn slowly raises his own ham-sized fist. He extends it, and lightly bumps Quill's own fist before taking off to the tavern.
He then glances over to Vashta as he overhears her speak.
A GOOD SPELL SHOULD BEAT A GOOD SWORD?! It is to everyone's good fortune that today is a day of ceremony and festival, I shall not insult Ruby and delight in the smell of another's entrails. Besides, Vashta might turn me into a turnip or something.
Gazing from Rodrik to Kurst and back again she smiles brightly and nods, now pulling back out her journal, she speaks quietly. "Do...do you think that I might see these poems, sir? I would love to see what Trunau poetry is like...and if I could talk to you gentlemen about being on the militia would be very informative!" she says with a grin of excitement.
As she does so, she looks quizzically at Quill and holds her hand up with a balled fist and punches his gently. "Interesting..."
|
|
As she does so, she looks quizzically at Quill and holds her hand up with a balled fist and punches his gently. "Interesting..."
Quill smiles at the newcomer.
"Hail and well met," Quill says with the heady excitement of the victory. "I'm Quill...you are?"
* * *
Quill watches in disbelief as Storn works his hand into a fist (something that Quill had witnessed on more than one occasion) and then confusingly found a way to bump his. It's not that hard. All the cool kids do it.
Quill seems amused that Storn doesn't seem to recognize him.
"You remember me, right, Storn? You set my broken arm a ways back?" Quill follows Storn into the tavern.
I thought he was equally likely to break my arm again in more places than set it straight...but he fixed it, he did.
Storn looks over Quill for a moment, his coarse brow furrowed in thought.
Stupid elves, all look the same. Can't sort the women from the men... OH! I know him. That's Quill, had a bad fracture. Handled it well. Good sort. Little strange. Wants people to like him I reckon.
"Of course! I get confused by elves, and you're not built out of twigs and fairy wishes like the rest of your kin. Got some meat on ya. Quill, right? Glad to see the arm is good once more for this fist-bumping and yanking ropes. I approve of this fist bumping; we need more violence in our day to day lives."
The enormous Kellid's scale mail clinks noisily as he walks, his booming, gravelly voice strangely lilting in the accent of his people.
"Bad break on that arm. Next time wear a shield. Still fletching?"
|
|
"Bad break on that arm. Next time wear a shield. Still fletching?"
Quill holds up his arm, testing it again. Nope, it's still good as new.
"Oh yeah, making arrows and storing them up. That's my job. The militia," Quill nods at the various militiamen in attendance, "The militia needs lots of arrows for training and for the next attacks." Quill explains.
"Did you know that it can take many arrows to kill one orc? And ever think how many it takes to kill an ogre? A LOT!" Quill seems really excited to talk about arrows...and how they might kill orcs. Or elves.
Quill grabs a drink and sips it. He will likely not finish this one...and he will drink it slowly. He seems content to sit quietly and listen and enjoy the celebration.
Vashta looks around at the strange assemblage.
Poetry? What interest could that hold?
She shrugs and takes a pull of the beer, making a face at the bitter taste.
This is ... interesting," she says, pushing it away. "I think I'll stick with wine."
Rodrik and Kurst talk with Mariana about life in the Trunau militia, and Rodrik's poetry. There was little of interest about militia life, other than the curious rule that before you could join, you had to have served in the defense of Trunau in some form or fashion.
Kurst took great joy in talking about Rodrik's poems, as the watch Captain's son writing poetry seemed amusing to him. The Ballad of Bloodmarch was the best known of his works, Kurst said. "It details our defense of Trunau versus the Legbreaker orcs some six years ago. Lots of gore and battle chants, but also a poignant sense of the inevitable being turned aside as well. Great stuff. Much better than that drivel he put out recently."
Rodrik made as if to splash his mug into his brother's face, but held off. "No sense wasting good ale. A toast then, to us! Long live the defenders of Trunau!" His toast was echoed by many others in the area, and a round of Huzzahs went out.
Rodrik wrote his hit poem “Ballad of the Bloodmarch” after Trunauans held off the orcs of the Legbreaker tribe for 6 days before finally routing them. The epic piece is not as somber as its name might indicate, and it is practically synonymous with Trunauan pride and the iconic militaristic fervor of the townsfolk. While the poem does manage to capture much of the solemn reverence that accompanies the trials and horrors of warfare, those sobering themes are contrasted by emotionally powerful scenes of wartime heroism and examples of holding one’s own. In 4710 ar, Chief Defender Halgra declared “Ballad of the Bloodmarch” to be Trunau’s official anthem.
|
|
Quill works up his courage to speak to Kurst.
"Oh, I love the Bloodmarch one. I didn't get to fight, but I was there when they were routed. That was a grand day," Quill remembers.
"I wonder if this city will ever have another fight like that."
Quill raises his drink to toast.
"To the Bloodmarch!" He sips after toasting. Unless something else happens, Quill enjoys the celebration until he goes home.
As the hopeknife ceremony wound down, Rodrik and Kurst invited you to the Ramblehouse for a night of card playing and drinking. Rodrik didn't drink much, but Kurst drank enough for both of them, and lost horribly at the card game. During the evening, those that were there got a sense that the two brothers were very close, and that Kurst looked up to his older brother a lot. Rodrik was the more personable of the two, and made up ditties about the people in the room that had Storn snorting beer through his nose.
Rodrik turned in early, barely an hour after full dark, claiming he had an early watch duty. Kurst left not too long after that, staggering towards his father's home. As the evening waned, you each drifted off to wherever you are staying for the night.
Molly is happy to join the card games, and she constantly has a glass of wine at her table. (Not that she does more than sip from it judiciously.) The Kellid girl is charming, she has a merry laugh and a kind word for everyone -- and as the evening and the game wears on, she loosens several buttons on her shirt.
By the end of the evening, win or lose, she wishes all a good night's rest and retreats to her room with her wine, either to count her winnings or to finish the glass and drown her losses.
Vashta keeps a close eye on the celebrants, smiling at their japes and jests, and even cheering along with them, but refuses any more than her first glass of liquid cheer.
A muddled mind is no good for studying. And that spell didn't work!
She chews at a fingernail, mind going back again and again to that moment at the rope.
Eventually, as the others leave, she adjourns to her room, pulling out her Grimoire of the Shadowy Path and delving once more into its pages.
Storn does his damndest to keep up with Yelena drink for drink, but finds himself falling behind the doughty dwarf. He spends the night yelling, roaring with laughter at Rodrik's songs, and getting increasingly drunk as he tries to discuss alcohol with Yelena.
"Off-dry? Proprietor? INFUSED?! Stop making up words, woman! My people use the malurt root in our mead which is good for the weak-sight, consumption, traveller's complaint, and boltinn rotna. Tastes like dung but gives you strength to punch mammoths! ... That said this is delicious. My faðir always said go to the dwarves for drink."
Eventually as the night approaches dawn Storn manages to barely stand and crashes his way up to his room at the Ramblehouse before collapsing in his armour for an extremely uncomfortable sleep.
|
|
Quill celebrates until he is tired, returning home to the comfort of his cot in Cavinton's shop. He stays longer than he usually would, mostly in hopes of catching glimpse of Marigold Pottersmoot, his enamored.
It's been a good day, it has.
I wonder where Molly was tonight. I didn't see her. I would have liked to have seen her.
Mariana took notes and even copied down the Ballad. "This is really good...I'm very impressed."
As the night turned to drinking and cards, her notebook didn't leave. She watched for a few hands and eventually played a few hands, though it was clearly not her game.
She listens quietly to everyone, constantly taking notes, particularly when Quill talks about arrows and when people talk about the militia and former battles. Her eyes seem to be filled with wonder and excitement.
Once everyone heads off to bed, the night passes with realtively little excitement. Cham Larringfass, the Ramblehouse proprietor, chased everyone out of the common room around midnight - so that decent Trunauans can get some sleep - and the place quieted down quickly. The sleep of wine and ale consumed most of the celebrators, and the entire town nestled in for a good night's rest. All but the watch, of course.
The next morning, you are awoken just after dawn by a shriek. Anyone looking into the long hallway that hosted the private rooms saw a halfling maid, standing in the hallway, shrieking continuously and staring aghast into one of the rooms.
In the room, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, lay Rodrik Grath. His wrists were deeply slashed, and a hopeknife was still held tightly in his right hand. Cham came running down the hallway, looked into the room, and blanched. He yelled, "Kaleb! Run and get the militia. Send 'em here as fast as they can get here. Tell them Roddy's killed himself." A young halfling nodded and ran out.
Cham looked at all the gawkers and said, "Well, what are you all standing about for? This isn't a circus set for your entertainment. A good man's death isn't something to stare at. Go about your busniess. We'll set breakfast out in a half-turn. Shoo!"
The morning dawns clear and cool. Roosters crow and the sun peeks over the mountain range to the east, as it does most mornings. No warning in the night of orcs on the horizon. All signs point to a great day.
|
|
Quill rises the next morning, another day of work and training. He performs his usual routine: a few moments of prayer in his make shift altar, washing his face and hands, breaking of his fast with his adopted family (the Cavintons), a discussion of the day's priorities, then work until lunch.
After lunch, we would work for a few more hours before taking his bow to the range for some practice. He might get instruction from Yelena on whatever she is training for the day, but mostly he focuses on his archery.
His (real) dad was an archer...and pretty good one at that. Not that Quill would ever likely approach his father's skill, but he hoped that he would at least hold his head up after the orcs attacked and be able to add several notches to his bow with a number of dead orcs.
One could dream anyway.
As Mariana pokes her head out, she hears the words as they are being said and shakes her head in disbelief. She had really liked Rodrik. As she walks and sees the dead man she shakes all over, very disturbed by the mere thought that he may have done something like this to himself...and frankly not believing it possible. Looking over to Cham, she quietly whispers, "Do you think I might be able to take some notes and help? I...I mean with the militia, not instead of them. I just don't understand. I just met him yesterday and he was so full of life..." she trails off quietly.
Molly comes running up, a loaded crossbow in her hands - and wrapped in nothing but a blanket. She skids to a halt in the doorway of Rodrik's room. Her expression, which had been one of tight focus, crumbles into simple grief and she lifts a tip of the blanket like a veil while muttering a prayer to Sivanah, followed by a prayer to Pharasma.
"Don't shoo me just yet," she tells Cham after dropping the piece of blanket from her face. "I might be able to spot something the guards might miss."
The heterochromatic girl regards the whole sad scene and whispers a single Word of Power.
A little amphibian pokes its head up out of Molly's dark hair and blinks its golden eyes at the sight of the death before ducking back into hiding.
Molly blatantly ignored Cham's instructions, but from the hallway, it was difficult to see anything. The halfling glared at her and Mariana, but did nothing other than prevent their entry into the room. It wasn't long before the sound of running footsteps could be heard. The clump, clump, clump of boots sounded on the stairway, and a trio of guards rounded the corner. In the lead was Kurst.
"Cham, what's going on? Someone said Rodrik was dead. What..." His voice trailed off as he reached the room and peered in the open doorway. Cham stepped aside as Kurst slowly stepped inside, staring at the body on the floor. Then, a sudden howl burst from the man, and he sank to his knees. "Roddy, noooooooooo! He sobbed. "Who did this to you? I'll find him, and when I do he'll wish he had never been born to this earth!"
He started to grab the body to roll it over, but one of the other militia stopped him. "Sir! Perhaps the two of us should look him over. I mean, I know he's your brother, but you don't need to see him like this, do you? I mean, knowing he killed himself is one thing, but..."
Kurst flung the hand away and glared at the man. "Rodrik would never take his own life like this. He had everything to live for. I have never seen a man so alive. No, this is murder. Someone killed my brother and made it look like a suicide!" He caught the sight of Molly in a blanket, and it seemed to take him off guard. "I mean, um, Miss Blackfoot, you, umm. Well, you saw him yesterday and last night. Did he look suicidal to you?"
Both of the other militia looked at him, then back at the body. The one who hadn't yet spoken moved to the body and gently picked up the hopeknife. He held it against the wounds on the left wrist, and specifically against a blood pattern there. It matched perfectly. "I'm sorry sir, but it's plain as day. He killed himself with his own hopeknife."
The morning started out well enough, with breakfast and getting started at the shop. Work proceeded well, though you did hear some odd rumors about Rodrik Grast. At about ten o'clock, a messenger arrived, and told you that Kurst Grast wanted to meet you at the Ramblehouse as soon as possible. "Actually, he said 'right damned now' when I asked him, but I can't say that, now can I?"
"Things ain't always as they seem," Molly says. She leans against the doorjamb, caring not too much how her blanket falls. "There's ways and ways to make a man wield a knife, even against himself. May I come in? I'd like to look about a bit. And... does Trunau have any alchemists we could ask to help out?"
Slow to emerge -- the yells barely penetrating her consciousness as she studied her spellbook, which then had to be hidden away once more -- Vashta comes out to hear Kurst's words to Molly.
The brother is right. He certainly didn't seem likely to kill himself last night. He seemed happy. Poets can be tortured souls -- maybe cut off an ear or something -- but this seems unlikely...
"He could have been made to do it with magic," she says idly, more speculating out loud than speaking to anyone in particular.
"That's some of the ways, yeah," Molly agrees. "Can't say for sure until after we've looked closer, can we?" The Kellid girl's heterochromatic eyes meet Vashta's.
|
|
Quill blinks at the messenger for several moments before the message that was messenged was properly understood.
I'm supposed to go...NOW!?!
Quill hops up from his lathe and dusts his hands off, then his smock. Almost in panic, Quill puts his smock on the rack, grabs his bow, arrows, and pouchgear and runs to the Ramblehouse.
I'm coming!!!
Quill doesn't stop running until he is at the door to the Ramblehouse. He pauses to catch his breath and collect himself before entering, wanting to make a good impression on Kurst.
Once he enters, he approaches Kurst and waits to be spoken to.
At the Ramblehouse, Storn nods approvingly at Molly and grins at Vashta.
"Bah, magic. When you have a hammer everything is a nail."
Blatantly ignoring any instructions to stay back, Storn tromps over and begins examining the corpse.
"I'm a healer, let me see!"
Seeing and speaking to the milita, specifically Kurst, Mariana nods in agreement. "I'm sorry, I just can not fathom that lovely, spirited man being the type to take his own life. Honestly...I think it should be further investigated...surely Kurst deserves to have someone research it, does he not?"