Brom charges up to the fleeing bandit in a rage, his eyes promising only death to the man as they meet eyes for the briefest of moments, a look of profound horror crossing the man's face...just as the hammer descends upon him and crashes into him with tremendous force. The loud cracking and splintering of bones from the impact can be heard by both Cappi and Dendarial as the hammer completes its swinging arch. The man is driven to the ground like a spike, and is still, crushed beyond belief.
The captive bandit radiates a moderate aura of evil, but everyone else comes up as not having an aura you can detect.
As his acquaintances and newfound allies begin to mingle, Castor starts wondering about the owners of the fort, and takes a look around.
"Mr. Oleg? Mrs. Svetlana? Are you injured?"
Hadin looks around, contemplating the carnage.
He starts to run to the refuge of Svetlana and Oleg, but suddenly stops, pale as dead, and walks unsteadily around the corner.
Then, sounds of someone puking and heaving are heard
Tall and strong, with a browned and balding head but long hair still kept in the back -gathered by a strip of leather into a long ponytail. Wearing a tight fitting chain shirt over his muscular frame, the armor seems restrictive and seldom worn, judging by the tanned skin underneath it. His body has been browned by countless days in the sun, weathered to a leathery toughness. His face is lined from squinting against the elements of nature, but a multitude of laugh lines run deep into those same grooves. Thick wrists, muscled forearms, torso, neck, indeed his entire frame is criss-crossed by dozens of curving and vaguely artistic white and pink scars cut into flesh. Upon his back hangs a shiny and unblemished buckler, and it's presence seems very out of place on the rugged man before you. Clutched in calloused hands or slung casually over one shoulder is an immense earth-break the barbarian man lovingly refers to as 'Krasa', stained red with bits of hair, bone, and flesh jammed into the head.
Brom lets his warcry die with the bandits grisly demise, himself covered in blood and gore, staring down with rage-crazed eyes. Reluctantly, he lets the rage go, and slumps against the wall, fatigue flooding his limbs even as the rage-induced adrenaline seeps out. He takes in great gulps of air and looks west towards Dendarial, giving the elf a tired smile. Bringing his hammer up to his forehead he presses against it, Good work little one. he thinks towards his beloved weapon.
He forces himself to stand and makes his way back to the others on unsteady legs, propping himself up with Krasa when needed. When he finds himself in the middle of the post, and facing a large group of new faces, briefly seen as he hunted the bandit. He does see his own group mingling somewhat, and the sight sets him at ease, "Zhe last vun has met Krasa. and holds up his weapon, "He died vizh honor." The blood-covered barbarian, somewhat recovered by now, lifts a hand in greeting to the new folks, "Hello! I am Brom. Ve are together hunting bandits now, yes?"
Concerned by the sound of sickness, Castor rushes to help, unsure of what kind of sight to expect beyond the very same corner.
Having not seen the large hunk of bloody muscles until now, Winifred quickly gazes away from Brom. She wasn't sure if it was the blood of the recently slain bandits or the excessive muscles that the man had, or that stench, but something felt unclean. "I think I need to wash my eyes now, and my nose..." She mutters before taking a look back at the barbarian, adding "Thank you for your assistance...big man. I'm guessing you were the one telling me not to close the gate?" She looks over at Brom's compatriots, adding "Does he always smell this way?" The small girl can't help but hold her nose.
Dendarial moves lightly to Brom's side checking on his friend and making sure the bandit is ended. Impressive swing there my friend. he says as he looks upon the remains and steadies the big man in his sudden fatigue.
After he will gather up the body and carry it outside the gate, beginning a row of the dead to be searched and disposed of.
Dressing in greens and greys, Dendarial is tall and lean, even for an elf. The gleam of his armor is masked by his drab tunic and forest cloak. He wears soft leather boots that allow him to move quietly when he chooses. His raven black hair is long and pulled back in a single knot. His eyes shine a green of new spring grass and belies the serious expression he mostly wears.
To the defenders of the trading post he calls out in introduction. I am Dendarial, ranger of the south woods. Has anyone seen Oleg and his wife? I prey they are unhurt. He is mostly quiet after his introduction but will have a friendly word with anyone approaching him as he drags the dead outside and assembles the line of bodies.
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Sir Karse will aid Dendarial in clearing away the dead. He undertakes this task in silence, though it is far from reverent.
He is dressed in a well-oiled chain shirt (now spattered with blood and gore) and carries a steel shield strapped across his back. A white tabard covers his mail, displaying a sun rising over twin peaks; the arms of House Orlovsky. Like the mail, the tabard is blood-stained and spattered with gore. At his hip rides a flail.
When he speaks, it is in a basso rumble, but elegant, as though he were raised in a noble household. It is quite a contrast to his heritage.
Seeing the half orc begin to help the elf offer him his hand. My friends call me Den. And you are?
"Well met Dendarial, I am Lady Winifred Lebeda, I sent Hadin off to find his aunt and uncle, I imagine after they are informed that it is safe we will see that they are fine." The girl tries the regain her composure now. She makes no offer of noble gesture towards Dendarial however, perhaps she simply was growing tired of all the curtsying.
Oleg and Svetlana emerge from the house, Oleg still grasping the haft of his ancient greataxe and taking in all of the new faces with a bit of contempt, "Oh well look at this. Just now many people are those lords up in Restov sending here anyhow? I'm for hopin they take it upon themselves to remember to leave a little bit of a place for me and mine after they are done grabbin their lands." He turns a dour look to Svetlana and adds, "Guess I'll be seein to these bodies now. I'm not for lettin them rot in the sun and stink enough to draw the trolls." And with that he moves past the group with a bit of a snort and begins to help Karse and Dendarial with the process of arranging the corpses.
Svetlana rushes to a somewhat pale in the face Hadin and hands him a cup of water, prompting him to drink the contents and doting over him, wiping his face with the corner of her apron. "There there lad, you take a moment. Ease yourself." She turns to the spot where the majority of the party is currently conversing and introducing themselves and says, "Thank all of you so very much. I've never seen such a display. You have each saved us today, and we shall be in your debt. Please, come to the tables and rest yourselves. I'll bring some refreshments for you all. I hope ale will suffice, we are out of our stock of wine at the moment." She turns on her heel and hurries off to the house to prepare something for the triumphant heroes.
As the bodies are gathered, and anything of obvious value is stripped from the corpses before burning, the party finds the following items:
Eleven suits of leather armor
Seven longbows, each with 20 standard arrows in quivers
Six handaxes
Fourteen daggers
Eight short swords
A total of twenty eight days of trail rations
A composite longbow (+2 STR bonus)
A silver amulet in the shape of a stag's head
Two flasks of alchemist's fire
A total of 132gp, 108sp, 218cp.
Oleg suggests that the party pick from any of the items they would need and he will add the remaining items to the stock of the trading post, to be sold on the next caravan coming through.
As Oleg, Sir Karse & Dendarial proceed to deal with the corpses, Rufus calls out to Oleg. "Burning or burying? If burying, have you a preference for where?"
Hadin tries to regain some composure, and seems genuinely relieved to see his aunt unharmed
I'm sorry.. I am not accustomed to see so much death and blood.. and by Erastli, I truly hope i'll never be!
the young man tries to gasp some air back in his lungs, and pushes himself from the wall against which he rested so far
i'd better try to make myself useful...
Without joy, Hadin walks back to the center of the trading post, where most of the fight has took place, nodding to the half elf. Blushing, he stops once again...
errr.. don't go there please. Not before I throw a few bucket of water first.
Oleg responds to Rufus' question, "I don't want their kind fouling up the soil here, we burn them, if Sarenrae would have their souls. I have a load of uncut timber outside the walls, we can draw from that to build a pyre."
Brom smiles broadly at the diminutive Winifred, "Zhat vas I." but his smile wavers as she questions his friends about his smell, and he half turns and sniffs an armpit surreptitiously, widening his eyes with surprise.
At the prospect of entering the house Brom turns to Hadin, seeing the familiarity displayed him by Svetlana. The barbarian approaches, "Umm, good small man, vill you please be pointing me to zhe vell or a bucket of vater for myself?"
Brom, removing his chain shirt, dumps water on himself and uses the hind part of his handaxe to scrape the worst of the dirt and grim from his upper body before joining the others.
"Duly noted. I appreciate the warning," Castor notes, returning to join the group.
"It is a pleasure to meet you all. I am Castor Antares, faithful of Desna."
Castor takes a look over the gathered loot, feeling for any magic auras and trying to recognize any magic items he may be familliar with.
Nodding at Oleg's preference, Rufus walks out of the stockade to assess the area for the best spot to burn the bodies. Having located such a spot, he will head back for kindling & firewood. Once he has built an appropriate bed, Rufus will begin to carry the bodies to be burned, pausing to make one more suggestion to Oleg. "It sounds brutal, but I'd recommend we mount some, if not all, of their heads on pikes near the entrance. Once it becomes known what happens to those who attempt to prey on you & yours, it will likely become less of a problem."
Winifred casts detect magic and will do her best to help examine the gear.
After looking over the gear, Winifred adds, "What shall we do with the horses?"
Up to you all, they did not encounter problems on their way down.
Oleg thinks for a moment on Rufus' suggestion, "Might be right there, but also might be scarin off traders and folk that are here for the first time. A bandit's head looks like a farmer's head to someone that doesn't know any better. And lords, the smell. I think we might be better off just letting the fact that these lads never returned sink into the skulls of those that they might be followin."
Rufus nods acquiescence to Oleg's decision, carrying the corpses to the pile.
We're going to be doing this again in a few month's time I suspect...
Any traders in the River Kingdoms for the first time had best learn where they are right quick or they won't be coming through a .
"'Ware the smell. The post is going to reek of Roast Pork for a while." He warns before lighting the pyre.
Once the fire is strong, he turns back to examine the mounts. "How many of you lot can ride?"
Brom pointedly keeps his hands down, without being too obvious about it, in response to Rufus. He does stride overa to the small collection of longbows, choosing one at random and a full quiver as well.
Looking the beasts over, Rufus shrugs as he contemplates Winifred's query & the responses (& lack thereof) his own received. "They'd make acceptable pack animals, though an ass would serve better. None are properly trained for aught more than that. In the field they will likely prove as much a hindrance as an aid."
"With time I might be able to make something of one or two of them, but to be honest, we don't have that much time..."
"Indeed we do not. Were there any surviving bandits? Maybe we could coax some information out of them if there are, likely we haven't seen the last of these bandits, and if we know what we're up against we'll be better prepared, and we might even be able to strike them before they realize that these ones are dead." Winifred was not in a terrible hurry, but with Svetlana being out of wine, she wasn't terribly keen on sitting back and relaxing either.
"I have no formal training in riding, but I have plenty of practice traveling the roads on horseback. If you can train a horse in what short time we have, I would gladly pay you to train mine over one of these. Through a strange turn of fate, I have come to own a healthy mare, but no means of making a good mount out of her."
A thought suddenly seems to cross Castor's mind, and he approaches the adventurers he met before reaching the fort, asking each of them the same question in relative privacy.
In the interest of good relationships and making a positive examples of ourselves, I propose that we add the loot seized from our earlier encounter into the pot, to be shared. Of course, they are your earnings as much as they are mine, so I would not want to presume."
Cappi halts his pursuit as Brom drives the final bandit into the ground like a tent spike. The look on his face is one of mingled disgust and fascination. "Ey, we're friends right?" He jokes with the giant man, twirling his blades and returning them to their sheaths. "I don't think I've ever come across a character such as yourself, and I'm grateful to be on this side of the wall with ya."
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The halfling returns to the rest of the group with a spring in his step, making the beads that dangle from his scarf jingle and clink. His skin is a dark olive, with black hair and brilliant green eyes. His clothing consists of layers of bright and eclectic clothing, with a blue silk bandanna covering his head. His grin stretches from cheek to cheek with somewhat of a sheepish look as he returns.
"Well now that we're gettin' all chummy and checkin' credentials, I imagine I have a quick explanation." He chuckles at the joke only he is privvy to, with a sparkling smirk. "You can actually call me Cappi... mostly as that's my name. Things haven't been as smooth sailin' out here as one would hope, and prudence dictated my name ought to be surpressed for a bit." The halfling slowly pulls his own writ from the folds of his clothing. "But count it a privilige rather than an insult, as a lie rescinded is a beaming reflection of your merit. It may not reflect well on my character... but my character can take it." He smirks again.
"So feel free to call me Cappi, Cappi Brightonspinner. Some of you may have heard the Brightonspinner name, though it wouldn't offend me if you haven't... you will."
Looking over the loot Dendarial is surprised by one of the bows. This is fine elven work. he notes, surprise evident in his voice. It is crafted so that the strength of the bowman is transferred to to the shaft and seems... He pulls the bow again. to be set perfectly for me. If I could claim this item as my share of the loot I would be grateful, and in return could add this elven composite bow for another to choose. He indicates the bow on his back.
Later when Rufus asks about people trained to ride the elven ranger speaks up. Here. I can ride.
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At the lady's comment over the smell, Will realizes it has been a few days since his last cleaning, and joins Brom with the dousing of water to at least clean off the majority of the road grime. Returning to the group, he hears Winifred's question. "Yes, Kurgan thought it best to knock one out instead of kill it. I tied it up and tossed him in the corner over there." he says, pointing to the fallen bandit, sitting like a sack of grain against a wall. "If everyone is done looting and burning the corpses, I can revive him and we can start the questioning."
"Sir Karse, of House Orlovsky." The half-orc takes the offered hand and shakes vigorously. "It is good to make your acquaintance."
Unsure of the title Den asks innocently Sir is your taken name?
"Well met Dendarial, I am Lady Winifred Lebeda, I sent Hadin off to find his aunt and uncle, I imagine after they are informed that it is safe we will see that they are fine." The girl tries the regain her composure now. She makes no offer of noble gesture towards Dendarial however, perhaps she simply was growing tired of all the curtsying.
** spoiler omitted **
Again somewhat confused Den notes with a blush I can certainly tell that you are a lady. There is no need to inform me of that Winifred, I can assure you. He offers her his hand. It is a pleasure to find such beauty here in the wilderness.
"Those are Titles...
DenDAReeAll,
was it?" Rufus interjects in response to Dendarial's confusion regarding Karse & Winifred. In the process mangling his name in an obvious ignorance of Elf pronunciation.. "Elves have a way of noting someone is important? It's something like that." "'n I doubt, highly, that that bow is of Elf make. Kyonin's a right ways distant from here & Sevenarches lies between besides."
"Most likely it's simply a finely made bow...
They do get made by folks besides Elves you know." Noting the skill & poise with which Dendarial holds it, Rufus scratches his head. "I was going to call claim to it...
But seeing as you find it so fascinating & I still have this geegaw..." Taping the hilt of a sword longer than your arm. "I consider it a case of 'the better tool for the better craftsman'."
Contemplating Castor's comment, Rufus replies.
"As I said, training a horse takes time...
Assuming we all survive long enough to give me a season or so I can likely at least get your mare to not start as soon as violence ensues."
"To be honest though, a real warmount takes training effectively from a foal. The really worthy ones are the result of generations of breeding capped off by training from the time their dams will let them off."
"Just that much would be quite helpful, to say the least. I appreciate it."
Castor smiles and offers Rufus a handshake. It is evident that the earlier shouting has been set aside, at least for now.
"I do not believe I caught your name earlier, Sir, but it is a pleasure to encounter fellow travelers such as you and your companions."
Shirtless and glistening with drying water after his rinse, Brom looks over at Cappi with his pronouncement, a disbelieving look on his face, "Zhen- You are not 'Beau'?" and puts a hand to his head. These small men are unlike any I have every encountered! And now I'm surrounded by them... at least a few of them are of an appropriate size, despite their interesting complexions... Remember Brom, you wanted this.
He responds to Will, grateful to have something to focus on besides his companions names and the new folks titles. They all seemed a bit on the stiff side, even for small men, whereas the ones he'd met on the road had more easy going natures Brom could relate to. Sighing to himself, he adds his desire to help to Will's, "I vill be helping vizh zhe questions to zhe bandit."
Brom listens to Castor's request and answers in equally subdued tones, but then more openly gestures to his torn shoulder, the gash still bleeding slightly. "Good Castor, vould you mind...?" and crosses his eyes and wiggles his fingers at the wound in an ignorant imitation of the mystical healing arts.
"That's because I never tossed it." Rufus smirks in reply. "I answer to Rufus, no sir. Lord Parsal never actually gave me my spurs before...
personal,
matters called me back"
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Will squats near the bandit, and double checks the knots are tight. Satisfied, he keeps close, checking occasionally to see if the man awakes so as not to allow much time for him to test his bonds.
Seeing the group going about there business, Will calls out to Karse. "Sir Karse, on our way here, we ran afoul of some orcs, which is part of the reason we were tardy. However, a few wore suits of chain, which look to be better than what you wear. You could have it if you'd like, and there is even a spare if you know someone else who could use the armored skin. Come to think of it, if you take the chain mail on Bob there" pointing to his mule, "I could use that chain shirt you wear and move on from this leather I have on"
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"An acceptable bargain, my friend. I agree." Karse strips off his armor and clothing and goes over to the water. Removing a bar of soap from his pack, the half-orc begins scrubbing his flesh. After a good scouring, he turns his attention to his clothes and does likewise. When everything is scrubbed clean, he wraps a loincloth around his waist and lays his other clothing out to dry, before considering the chainmail available. When he finds the best of the lot, he claims it and begins going over it with a wire brush while his clothes dry.
"Very well then, Rufus. I simply go as Castor. I prefer to leave the 'Brother Antares' parlance with the more... let us say 'old fashioned' members of my faith."
After clearing up his mess with a few bucketfull of water, Hadin doesn't stay inactive, trying to help either his uncle or his aunt, but Svetlana swiftly talk him off HER kitchen.
So he washes himself out of the blood and grime, before humbly setting the dishes on the big wooden table for all the company.
Then he brings two barrels of ale from the storeroom.
When all he could do to help inside is done, he walks out, and stay ready in case anyone needs him, smiling shyly. He seems particulary interested in Brom, watching him.
Tshilaba sits back and relaxes while the group gets to know each other. It was always fun to watch people, and today was no exception. He went and fetched his horse outside, and it took a little longer than normal because of all the confusion in the keep, ole Cherry was a little spooked. Regardless of that, he enjoyed overhearing other people's conversations and sat back and enjoyed himself.
"Those are Titles...
DenDAReeAll,
was it?" Rufus interjects in response to Dendarial's confusion regarding Karse & Winifred. In the process mangling his name in an obvious ignorance of Elf pronunciation.. "Elves have a way of noting someone is important? It's something like that." "'n I doubt, highly, that that bow is of Elf make. Kyonin's a right ways distant from here & Sevenarches lies between besides."
"Most likely it's simply a finely made bow...
They do get made by folks besides Elves you know." Noting the skill & poise with which Dendarial holds it, Rufus scratches his head. "I was going to call claim to it...
But seeing as you find it so fascinating & I still have this geegaw..." Taping the hilt of a sword longer than your arm. "I consider it a case of 'the better tool for the better craftsman'."
The ranger looks more closely at the human cavalier, as if seeing him for the first time. About to say more he catches himself and instead simply says My thanks. I will attempt to put it to good use.
After getting healed by Castor, Brom selects one of the regular longbows and a quiver of arrows, pulling the string back with great ease and a distinct lack of skill or familiarity. Probably making the more experienced bow users cringe a bit at the abuse of a of weapon best handled with care and finesse. During his examination of the unfamiliar bow, the scarred rager senses Hadin's eyes on him and turns to regard the tall youth. You know... that boy could be one of The People.
Brom grabs Krasa, letting it trail behind him as he strides over to Hadin, arm outstretched to clasp forearms, "Vell met, I am Brom. Are you a bastard of vun of Zhe People?" He'll happily indulge in some ale when and if it's offered as well, tipping his head back taking huge gulps -little rivulets of ale running down each cheek and onto his chest.
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Later, while waiting for the prisoner to wake, he'll approach Dendarial, carrying his newly acquired longbow by the string. "Dendarial, my friend, I vas zhinking zhis time vould be good to learn zhe bow. Vill you still teach me?"
The ranger smiles up at the big man. It would be my honor to teach you. If you are going to use a bow I want to make sure you know how to send the arrows the right direction. He smiles at his own joke and adds. Tomorrow we will set up a target and see how fast you learn.
Brom grins back, then assumes an archers position, drawing experimentally on the bow, and nearly snapping it by pulling with too much force, "I zhink it vill be easy to learn, yes?" He notes something and tilts his head to the side, appearing to admire how some of his muscles seem to pop especially well while pulling the string.