Watching as Brom and Kurgan carry the body away, Castor sets to packing his belongings and preparing for day's travels. He looks over to the still-sleeping members of their camp.
"What do you think? Should we let them rest a little longer? Yesterday ended on a rather rough note. The Stolen Lands seem unlikely to be stolen a second time just because we gave our companions a little more time to sleep.
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”I have no issue waiting for them to wake up, and the more the better if more of those Grimtooth guys show up.” replies Will as washes his face with a bit of water from the stream. Shaking his hands dry, he adds, ”How much farther do you think Oleg’s will be? Will we arrive there today? Tomorrow? Next week?”
Cappi finally pulls himself out of his bedroll. The rising sun was making it harder and harder to maintain sleep, and he eventually resigns to the waking world. He approaches the others, still puffy-eyed and strands of his short black hair sticking straight up into the air. "Whoa, he had quite the bad dream it seems." He watches the two drag the deceased orc away.
Even after that sight, there's very little that can subdue a halfling's appetite in the morning. Helping himself to some of the proffered food, scavenged the day before, he eats rather loudly--smiling with berry juice running down his chin.
At the recommendation of fellow campmates, Castor gathers the objects looted from the bandits. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and holds his holy symbol firmly in both hands, focusing on nothing but feeling for any magical auras emanating from their finds.
Brom, ready for activity, restless shifts his weight from foot to foot, finally stating, "Zhere is food ahead, catch me up vhen ready." and starts off in the direction of Oleg's. You can see the barbarian is moving slowly and carefully as he looks for food and won't be difficult to catch up to.
The ring is glowing. Focusing on the weave of magic surrounding it you send your consciousness inward in an attempt to unravel its mysteries. You find it has a single faint aura of magic surrounding it.
Den is up before the sun. Quietly he touches Castor on the shoulder, perhaps startling the watching elf and says softly I hunt. He slips into the brush and is gone.
He returns carrying a small boar over his shoulder to find the group dealing with a dead Orc. He allows himself a smile that the group has made the right decision about the bandit but says nothjng. Setting his gutted kill by the fire he explains breakfast. and concurs with Brom about the body. Not the stream.
He busies himself with splinting and then cooking his kill. Soon the smell of roast pork fills the camp.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here. Comrades, it seems that there's more to this ring that meets the eye.
Castor focuses intensely on the magical aura, attempting to discern further details.
...but this particular aura seems rather cryptic.
That, and the cooking boar smells absolutely delicious.
The halfling is delighted at the sight of Dendarial's return with a small boar. Can one truly call a meal breakfast if bacon isn't involved? He walks over to the fire to take a seat and watch breakfast cook. His attention, however, is firmly rooted in what Castor is discovering about the looted ring... without seeming overly interested.
Brom, out ahead in the woods, finds a nice pile of potatoes for his breakfast, at which time the smell of a campfire and roasting pork tickles his nose.
The elf had overslept by an embarrassing margin. He had almost always gotten up with the sun for as far back as he remembered, but he also almost always had gone to bed with the sun as well. Sure it meant for short nights in the summer, but there was always more to do then. Fighting fires and orcs and fleeing bandits made for a more eventful day than he was used to, but it still hadn't soiled his mood. As other people busied themselves, he took to his studies to make sure he was prepared for the day.
Brom finishes most of his potato pile, sadly only enough to fill his own belly with none to bring back for the others, and then smells the pork on the wind. He looks at the lone potato remaining in his hand, then inhales the pork aroma deeply, and tosses the offending vegetable to the ground. He starts back towards camp with eager steps, but stops, looks sharply back at the last potato, and with sudden violence whirls Krasa high up over his head, and brings it down with terrific force onto the innocent potato. Suddenly feeling much better, he heads back to camp with a whistle and a hop to his step.
"Vhat is zhis!?" he cries in mock outrage when he makes it back to camp, still wiping mashed potato from his weapon. "I am disappearing for vun moment and now meat is here! Might I be eating just a little bit?" he asks. The barbarian is mostly full, but there's always room for pork. Teach me to go off hunting by myself, he thinks to himself.
"HEY, Uncle V!" The halfling exclaims as Tshilaba staggers into the circle. "I mean... heeeeeyyyyyy. So... good morning." he quickly corrects himself, settling back onto the rock he was using as a seat by the fire. "You know a lot about magic stuff, right? I mean, of course you do. You should... if you get a chance... check out that ring Castor's looking at, too." He looks back to the fire as if that was more interesting. He kicks his legs nervously for a moment, and steals a couple glances in the wizards' direction when he thinks it safe to do so.
Kurgan's mouth waters ass the hog is slowly cooked.. "Dang that smells good.. Nice job Den.. This day is deffinitely starting better than yesterday.."
Having finished his early morning studies, he smiles at Cappi's morning greeting. "Well, I don't know if I can promise anythin' but Ill give it a try. He then meanders over toward toward the small group hovering over the magical item. "Mind if I take a gander? I've seen a few rings before. A traveling merchant tried to hustle my pappy a while back, he had all manner of rings on him that were genuwine, but wanted far too much gold for what they were worth. But he couldn't pull a fast one on ole pappy. Gosh, that must have been well on a hunderd and thirty years back since pappy died in 4586."
He paused for the moment to consider his years, and then seemed to suddenly remember something. "Oh, right. The ring!"
This ring, likely crafted by the Zenj, bestows upon the wearer a certain degree of protection against poisons, both natural and man made.
Brom, his face covered in grease, has apparently decided to have more than just a little bit of the delicious meal. He laughs loudly at Cappi's poorly concealed excitement about the ring, small bits of pork shooting from his mouth. As Tshilaba shares some familial history, and dates, Brom's levity dies off and he looks at the elf askance. You can see him doing some figuring in his head, his greasy fingers moving minutely as he counts. After a moment he looks back, "Vun hundred and zhirty years? Vun HUNdred and zhirty years, yes?" he asks, clearly unconvinced.
"This here seems to be a ring made by them Menj people, that's a tribe of the Mwangi for those who don't know, that increases a body's ability to fight off poisons a little. It's nice if you run into that kinda thing like they do. Garund is a dangerous place, or so I hear. Got snakes big 'round as your middle..." He says, pointing to Cappi, "... and a monkey king that eats people for every meal of the day. But I wouldn't believe everything you hear." He hands the ring back to Castor and heads over to see if he can sample some meat as well.
He nods at Brom in answer to his question. "I'm a hundred and sixty eight years old, and my birthday's next month. Some elves live up to seven hundred, but I ain't met any that old. I'm not old neither. I'm still in my prime!" He hooked his fingers in his overalls and looked quite pleased with himself.
The halfling pauses in his meal to picture a snake with his width. He's finally able to enjoy the roast pork now that he knows what the ring is. He's not certain what lies ahead of them, but if one of these bandits was wearing that, Cappi would be willing to bet that someone in that crew uses poison... or something in these rivers does.
Brom just looks at Tshilaba during the explanation and profession to be nearly a hundred and seventy years old, considering... then erupts in laughter, "HaHAHA! You small men are such funny small men!" he looks around, making a goofy face, and eyes finally landing on Denarial, "Oi! Dendarial, look at me! I am Brom and I am zhree hundred years old! Eh? Haha! Very funny joke, yes?" Still chuckling he points jovially at Tshilaba, "Very funny small joke man zhere."
"Sounds like such an item could certainly come in handy." Castor says, between a bite of pork and a swig of conjured water. "To think that these lowlives had such an object in their possession. I guess every cloud has a silver lining."
Wanting to make sure that the group won't be wanting for food halfway through the day, grabs an empty sack from his backpack, and decides to take a peek of his own around camp.
Castor returns a few minutes later with a bright smile and a bucket's worth of wild pears. He sets the fruit down by the pork's remain, grabbing one for himself. He shines it with a quick rub against his robe before taking a hearty bite.
"Mm. These are quite sweet. Nature is certainly not starving us in these lands. Anyone care for dessert?"
Recovered from laughing, Brom waves away the fruit good, "Zhank you, Too much, even for one of Zhe People."
"Are we ready to get back on the road? We'll have an easier time getting our fair shares of the spoils of war once we reach Oleg's. Until then, feel free to borrow what you can make use of. I'll take some of the load along, I'd like if you two could do so as well, Will and Tshilaba. There's no sense in forcing our pedestrian companions to load up when we have three equines."
His belongings tucked away in their rightful places amongst his bags, Castor loads up his horse, making sure that she's fine after yesterday's sudden gallop. Satisfied with her health, he tucks the three shortbows inside one of the suits of chainmail, places the bundle into one of Capella's saddlebags, and straps one of the four daggers to his belt, before rejoining the group
"Ready for the road as soon as you are."
Wiping his hands in the cool stream, Brom dries his hands on his pants and shoulders his things again, "I am being quite ready. Come, ve go."
Dendarial all but fusses over the cooking of the pork and takes silent pleasure that the group enjoyed the meat he provided but says only Good, yes?. He uses the new short sword to carve the beast and after it is divided he leaves a sheen of oil on the blade as he tucks it into his belt. Later he nods for Brom to join in the protean feast.
Preparing to travel he replaces the 4 arrows he shot from the take from the bandits and allows other to take what they need. When all the arrows are not claimed he says I could use another quiver or arrows for later, if they can be spared.
Once on the road the ranger considers the sky, wondering about the weather, but is unsure what the day will bring and says nothing.
As the group moves forward he gravitates to the other elves and half elves making small talk in elven.
Just before the party takes the first step upon the road itself, Castor quickly traces the shape of a butterfly in the air, and, seizing his waterskin, pours some water onto his hand. He flicks his wrist towards the road, sending small glittering droplets sailing through the air and glittering before landing onto the dry dirt.
"May the Starsong sound out clear and loud upon our paths today, so that our travels may be safe and peaceful."
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As the group travels, Will slings his drum over his shoulder, and begins rapping out a rhythmic beat. A few moments later, he adds his words to his tune, his deep tenor ringing clear in the morning sun.
It being on a morning early in the month of spring,
The crossbow shots rang in their ears, the chapel bell did ring,
But louder still their shots rang out, you could hear the thunder roar,
As the ambush it was taking place down by the Shannon shore.
In Dunfort's cave they took their stand, the last in Restov's rights,
Three days and nights with rapid fire they nobly held the fight,
Till worn out without relief they did at length give o'er
And they gave their lives for Restov down by the Shannon shore.
McGrath and Shea were washed away as the foaming tide did rise,
Their comrades knew that they were doomed when they heard their
drowning cries,
They knew they could not hold the fight, being then reduced to four,
And they yielded to their enemies down by the Shannon shore.
Ned Greaney, Mac and Hathaway in irons soon were bound
And taken off to Tralee jail, where guilty they were found,
They were placed before the headsmans axe, which quickly on them
poured,
And now they sleep in martyrs' graves down by the Shannon shore.
Their captain was a brave young man with a heart both light and bold
It was said he knew that death was due as soon as he tied the rope,
Timothy Lyons it was his name from a place called Garranagore
And he too met his doom in his youthful bloom, down by the Shannon
shore.
Their comrades sorely miss them gone, their loss they now deplore,
When strangers came to view the cave and roam along the shore,
There to enjoy the pleasant time while other heats feel sore,
And that will be for years to come down by the Shannon shore.
And now to end this mournful rime, I have no more to say,
The cave will be their monument and that for many a day.
May Pharasma reward these guileless souls and blessing on them pour,
Console their friends who miss them gone, down by the Shannon shore.
The drum beat continues on for a few moments, the last beat seeming to echo down the road they travel.
It doesn't take long before Brom's head bounces from side to side in time with the drum beats, and poor and off-time parroting of Will's voice can be heard tumbling quietly out of his mouth. "...Zhe capn.. is-brave. dum dee dum. Bum boo daa. Diddle dee doo.... Shannon, looodah.." and so on until it's over. He claps appreciatively for Will, "Zhat vas qvite nice Vill, zhe drums, zhat's very good!"
After a way he'll wind his way carefully and distrustfully through the animals, ending up next to Castor, "I notice zhe vater earlier. Is zhe vater your spirit's power?" He grins in what he hopes is a trustworthy way. How else to understand the small men, if not to learn about all their beliefs?
Sometime later he winds up next to Cappi, and launches into a question, "Hello, very nice day ve have, yes?" then clears his throat slightly, "So, vere you alvays zhis small?" he asks innocently.
Tshilaba laughed with the muscular man from the east. Even if Brom thought it was a joke, he was still a good natured person, and his laugh was a bit infectious, so Tshilaba allowed himself to be carried along.
As he listened to the song, he stepped in time to the beat. The elf had not heard this one before, so he made a note to ask Will about it when he was done. After a respectful silence, he went along side of him and asked the question. "Will, did you make that up, or did you hear it from somewhere? I'd surely like to know the origins as it is a good song and stuff like that chases out the chickens."
"Ah, no, nothing of the sort," Castor answers Brom's question. "The water is just one manifestation of Desna's gifts. When flicked through the air, it glitters like the stars in the night sky. The stars are my goddess' greatest gift to our world, guiding travelers along the roads of life. To use your terms, my 'spirit''s powers are guidance and fortune to the travelers, and the freedom to come and go as one desires; to do good as one sees fit, rather than as others would want us to."
"That was a beautiful song," Castor says, steering Cappella and moving closer to Will. "I remember my fiancee once singing the same while we traveled together, though hearing it in a man's voice makes for a world of difference. If I may allow myself the curiosity, where did you learn it from?"
Brom listens carefully to Castor, trying to retain the names he uses during the explanation, "I zhink zhis Desna and Brom... could be friends vun day. Zhe People also hold sacred zhe freedom to come and go. Vizhout zhat freedom, ve vould cease to be Zhe People. Perhaps Desna and Zhe People are friends already, yes?"
At one point he finds himself nearby Dendarial, but tries to play it cool and nonchalant around the mysterious and impressive elven ranger, avoiding eye contact despite their proximity. After a few minutes of what he hopes is companionable and manly silence the barbarian gestures at the elf's bow, "Is zhat your bow, zhen?" and immediately curses softly under his breath. 'Is that your bow'?! Of COURSE it's his bow! What kind of idiot am I!? $@$ %!!@ #$%! @*($ #)!#^$ with the mental obscenities continuing for some time.
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Will smiles over the thought that his companions liked his song, ”Alas, I did not write that, simply retelling the storysong. I don’t know where it originated, but I learnt it while I was in the Restov militia. I had a squad mate, Seamus, who loved that song, and would sing it whenever he got too much ale in him. He said he learned it from his granpapi. I tend to remember bits of useless facts. Test me on proper grammar and mathematics and I’ll be average at best, but for some reason I can remember things that have no real practical use. Did you know that the shrine of Shelyn in Restov is on its second roof, after a man named Ignatius tried to make an art display through the use of fire?”
"Desna watches over all travelers. Uour people may already have her blessing in some ways." Castor smiles to Brom.
Later on, he chuckles at Will's anecdote. "As a matter of fact, I was not aware. One would hope it at least made a pretty inferno before going down. At the very least, his motivations were pure. Do you know if he eventually found a safer way to express himself? A fire pit in the form of a shrine, perhaps?
Speaking of religious curiosities, would you believe a road north-east of Restov has a shrine to the Starsong built primarily out of swords? They say one warrior of our faith had one encounter too many with bandits over a short period of time and, exasperated, created it out of seized weapons as both a blessing upon the road and a warning to would-be-robbers. It is quite a sight to see."
The ranger initially ignores the song, but before long his pace is matching the beat of the drum and his steps seem to be a little lighter. We hunt bandits. That dirge should draw them. he thinks to himself.
As progress is made walking down the road Dendarial turns to the large barbarian who has begun to speak to him. Yes, my bow. he says, stating the obvious. But then he smiles at the big man, almost laughing, and adds Would you like to try it? He offers the bow to Brom. Do your people use bows?
Just after sunrise, Toilday, the 2nd of Erastus, 4713 AR.
Your journey continues for a few more days with no additional encounters or threats. The summer sun makes for long days of walking in the heat, which in armor is far from comfortable. At last you spot your destination in the distance, Oleg's Trading Post.
Oleg’s trading post is surrounded by a wooden palisade that stands 10 feet high. At each corner of the palisade are 20-footsquare watchtowers, each armed with a run-down catapult left over from the site’s original use as a border fort. There’s one entrance through the palisade—a 30-foot-wide wooden gate.
Oleg’s Trading Post is located at the southern edge of Rostland (and thus Brevoy). To the south, the green line of the Narlmarches looms only a few miles away. Owned and operated by a stern and somewhat unimaginative man named Oleg Leveton and his wife Svetlana, the trading post’s remote location and inconvenient distance from a major river has prevented it from realizing significant financial success.
Accepting a charter from Restov to rebuild an abandoned border fort into a trading post seemed like the perfect solution. Oleg and Svetlana have spent the past few months rebuilding the old fort. Their customers are few and far between, consisting mostly of trappers and hunters but the trade in furs, jerky, and the occasional rare herb are enough to keep them in business.
As you approach, just an hour after sunrise, you having only recently packed up camp to knock out the last mile or so of the journey, you notice that the day has started early for the inhabitants of Oleg's, already there is a group at the gate and a number of horses as well. This place must be doing pretty well to attract such a crowd so early in the morning.
"Well, well, well," Castor says, seeing the first glimpse of the fort's towers beyond the horizon. Turning in his saddle to face his companions, he flashes a broad smile. "It appears we have made it at last."
As they draw nearer, Castor leans forward and squints, trying to make out some early details about the group already assembled. "It seems quite a few other travelers have gathered as well. Perhaps the rest of our charter has already arrived."
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"It would make sense that they arrived earlier than us if they did not have to deal with a forest fire and those that caused it. Do we know how many are to be involved in this charter?" asks Will. Their destination in sight, Will can't help but feel a wave of relief. I made it through the first step of this journey. We shall see how it goes from here.
Tshilaba rode along in the midst of the group for the past few days, and kept conversation lively. He appreciated Will's eclectic knowledge and would often ask for other songs the help the time pass. It's too bad that most of these would be dead in a few decades anyway, but it didn't mean he shouldn't enjoy the time he had.
When they arrived, he noted the other travelers and waved a friendly greeting at them as well. "Howdy there!" he shouted. If they were friendly too, they would be happy to see them. If they were bandits, they would have a problem with a well armed party arriving this early, and bandits having problems was just fine by him.
Before Tshilaba has a chance to call out Dendarial warns We do not know the business of those "guests" there. Since there are likely as many bandits about as customers let us approach with caution and be ready for trouble. He begins to move more quietly and readies his bow.
He responds to Dendarial during their conversation, "Oh, Zhe People use bows, but zhey do not vork for me. I point zhem zhis vay, and zhe arrow, it go zhat vay. Very not good. Also, Krasa vould be jealous. Ha!" internally grateful the small man didn't point out his awkwardness.
Brom had a very educational journey, speaking at times with each of the new companions he found himself with. At night he told a tale or two of The People and their proud and nomadic traditions. He obviously had a lot of pride for his people and culture, and it's not hard to detect some wistfulness when he spoke of them.
When they arrive near the outpost, Brom was about to shout a loud greeting himself, and is confused at the caution Dendarial and Will show, "Zhere are bandits now running zhe trading post? Ha! Zhey are like us, yes?" Despite his professing a lack of concern, the Rangers words do disturb him, and he approaches with more care than he otherwise would have. He also decides to let a fellow small man greet the strangers ahead, rather than alarm them with the oft-feared voice of one of The People. Squinting in the early morning light to try and make some sense of the scene at the gate.
Cappi walks with a skip to his step, rather unconversational but immensely interested in the conversations going on around him. He very much enjoyed hearing about those around him, and any good conversation invariably found a subtle halfling underfoot or within earshot.
Seeing the others up ahead, Cappi skips toward the front--rather uncharacteristically you note. Turning to walk backwards but remain in front of the others, "If they are banditti, it may be best to let me crack a whid. I speak good flash, and to be honest this doesn't appear to be high-toby."
Your not really sure what he said, but you think you get the gist. Plus, there's something entertaining about the broad grin and the way the beads dangling from his clothing jangle as he struggles to walk backward in pace with the group.