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"Claim?" Zithembe says with an inscrutable glance toward Maria. "There is also the grim thought that if something dire befell the fort, could we have prevented it or would we have been destroyed, meaning that this intervention is the greatest good. Maria is correct about second guessing. As a princess passing through Axis once said, 'All you can do is the next right thing.'"
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Hepsubia takes one of her regular, non-cold-iron arrow, and breaks it near the tip, before giving the arrow to the crusader.
How much time did we "lost" fighting the demons? Five minutes? Let's say ten, and that's generous.I dare say your beloved Fort Portolameus won't fall in ten minutes. And if it does, our presence won't change a thing. It's not like we are three days, or even three hours, late. So this discussion is like this arrow: pointless.
She looks at the peasants
I'm quite a gambler, playing with odds, acting on impulses and whims, my companions can testify of that. I eschew responsabilities. But this time, I take full responsability for saving the peasants lives, doing the good deed, whatever the cost, even without any reward. So if you want to blame someone, blame me, and me only. And see if I care.
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The Grandfrogger merely watches and listens. Given up hope, that one has. Why? An attempt to behave similarly in the past that backfired, perhaps? Guilt? Indigestion? Wordlessly he reaches beneath his cloak and produces a pair of apples, passing one to Sam and eating the other himself. "The cores, we will save," he instructs his fellow rider after a few seconds. "Enjoy them, the horses will."
"Because it's the right thing to do, what other reason do you need?"
"To be fair to Sir Ilivan--forgive me and correct me if I am speaking out of turn--I believe his concern is for the maximizing of good," Zithembe interjects. "He worries that our efforts here, while good, will affect how much good we could have done if we arrived at the fort sooner than we now will. It is a strategic assessment. And while we may assess the weights differently, he did not stop us and even suggested the farmers come with us even though that slows us the most."
"What's right isn't always what's best when you look at the big picture," Sir Ilivan retorts. "I used to think you could save everyone. You can't, no matter how damned hard you try. So you may as well toss that notion out with the rubbish right now. Sometimes you just have to cut your losses and do what you can for the people you actually can help."
There's a brief pause and then he adds, "But I'm not a monster. I'm also not an idiot. After all the trouble you went to saving those people I wasn't fool enough to think you'd let them wander the countryside alone. May as well be in for a copper, in for a platinum at this point."
To Zithembe's pointed comment that even more time could've been saved if he'd just joined the battle in the first place, Sir Ilivan offers no response except a grunt.
"So this discussion is like this arrow: pointless."
"And that's about the first thing you've said that I can agree with. What's done is done, no sense crying about it now."
But even so, the crusader still seems to ruminate on everyone's words as you continue your journey...
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+1 vs. traps
The rest of the day and the rest of your journey pass without any further incidents, the hilly countryside slowly sliding by as you ride along. While Sir Ilivan refrains from joining in on any further conversation - unless it's something related to your task - your four rescued companions do open up a bit more and seem happy enough to chat in low voices and take turns slipping apple core treats to your faithful steeds.
As the afternoon shadows grow long Maria and Rumble's keen eyes pick out what appears to a plume of dark smoke rising into the sky from a point a few miles away. When they point this out to Sir Ilivan and the rest of you, the crusader's mouth flattens into a grim line.
"Coming from Fort Portolmaeus, no doubt about it. We're only a few miles away now, so let's pick up the pace."
You hurry onwards and as the River Road winds back down through the hills, you finally catch sight of your destination. Fort Portolmaeus sits on a tall rock outcropping in the West Sellen River, surrounded by rushing waters on three sides. A stout, stone bridge connects the fort to the river’s eastern bank, with a closed wooden drawbridge protecting the final approach. The keep itself is built of dark stone with tall curtain walls surrounding a squat central keep that peeks out above the outer fortifications. Portolmaeus has been the scene of a recent battle. Soldiers dressed in the colors of Mendev move around it making repairs, while others use carts to remove the bodies of humans and demons slain in the recent attack.
As you draw near the fort a patrol of four horsemen quickly emerge from within and approach, bows drawn. They come to within 60 feet of you before stopping and calling out, "Halt in the name of the Queen!"
"Hands off your weapons," Sir Ilivan advises as he slowly raises his own empty hands and calls out a reply: "That the Black Prince might be redeemed." Upon hearing this, the four horsemen lower their bows and beckon for you to approach. One of them steps forward as you do. "Sir Morgan, one of many defenders of Fort Portolmaeus. What is your business here?"
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Rumble grumbles to himself. Something about Dwarves making sensible choices, like not continuing to farm near the Worldwound.
When the others get into an argument about the greater good, he rolls his eyes. Not this again. We almost came to blows last time we discussed something of the sort, and that was over an evil cultist working with a Div. No way in Hell am I getting into that again, that s*#%'s for clerics and wizards to sort out. I'll just keep smashing Evil with Sledge and let Pharasma judge me as she must. If Torag didn't like the way I do things, he'd have already cut my powers from me!
"We've been ordahed tah assess duhfenses an' do some scoutin' an' such," Rumble explains. Weird, expected Sir Ilivan to have responded quicker to that bit. Mind must be somewhere else. Good thing in bozo can recite orders.
"So you're one of the patrols from Nerosyan," Sir Morgan replies, to which Sir Ilivan nods. "Aye. Heard word you'd suffered an attack and so we were sent to assess the damage."
Sir Morgan nods. "Very well. You'll want to speak with Commander Wardroxan. But first..."
The crusader looks over his shoulder, up at the battlements behind him. One of the other crusaders standing watch nods and steps forward, peering down intently at each of you...
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Though a couple of you get more of ye olde hairy eyeball than others, the crusader up on the wall finally nods and calls down to Sir Morgan, "I don't sense any foulness about them."
Sir Morgan gives a return nod, pleased. "Excellent. Lower the drawbridge!"
The garrison lowers the drawbridge and raises a heavy portcullis studded with cold iron spikes, after which a handful of soldiers lead you through a narrow zigzag tunnel to the central courtyard. The fort’s central building sits squat in its center, an impressive, monolithic edifice with few openings. A number of young stable boys come out from a side building to take charge of your mounts and begin leading them to the nearby stables. With the mounts taken care of, you are next led into the central building to meet the fort’s commander.
Commander Manaria Wardroxan is a charismatic young woman with pale skin, black hair, and a noble bearing who is dressed in a mud-spattered uniform that likely hasn’t been changed since the last battle. Standing at the bottom of a tall, amphitheater-like chamber carved into the bedrock the fort is built upon, she worriedly regards the fort’s wardstone, a massive menhir 30 feet high that pulses slowly with dull purple light and emits a low buzzing sound.
As you file into the chamber she turns her gaze away from the wardstone to regard you with an expression that is both weary but hopeful. "You’re the patrol from Nerosyan, are you? What word from the road?"
Commander Wardroxan sighs. "Unfortunately, I am not surprised. The demons have clearly been emboldened to strike whoever and wherever they can. But I am thankful to see that at least your encounter apparently went more favorably than ours did."
The commander then goes on to relate the previous night’s events with obvious regret. "The demons attacked in the dead of night, a mixed group of dretches and schirs led by a terrifying brimorak, a creature of horn, claw, and fire. The wardstone had been buzzing like it is now, and it didn’t seem to stop them. They captured a scout patrol alive and staked them out on the ground in front of the fort. There they tortured them close enough for us to hear. I am ashamed to say that we deliberated on whether we had the strength to retaliate, but as the screaming and begging continued, I sent our cavalry to put an end to the suffering."
She sighs heavily before continuing, "Of course it was a trap. A group of schirs wielding halberds met our cavalry and wasted no time in dragging them from their horses. The dretches then overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, clubbing them into submission. They slaughtered the horses and dragged off the soldiers while we looked on helplessly from behind the fort’s wall. I sent out another party after that, but most of the demons had already withdrawn with our captured men."
"As much as I hate to impose on your own mission, I must implore you - please, rescue them! Most of my garrison was transferred to Nerosyan and other locations before the attack and I simply don’t have the manpower to safely hold the fort and attempt a rescue mission."
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"How awful...." is all Effie can manage to say for a while. What a monstrous way to live. What a monstrous way to die! Why does the Worldwound exist? And why do so many just ignore its presence?! The abyss itself, here in our world..."
Eventually, Effie lifts her eyes and puts a gentle hand on Commander Wardroxan's arm. "You are not to blame for the demons' depravity. Of course we'll help. Do you happen to have any cold iron bullets, and gunpowder? Or a place I can make some?"
"Aye'll smash tha Demon scum tah bits!" Rumble promises, raising his Cold Iron Warhammer in the air with both fists. "Jus' point us in tha righ' direction an' we'll be off!"
"You are not to blame for the demons' depravity. Of course we'll help."
"This seems to fall well within the Society's pact with the Crusade," Zithembe says. "So it is no imposition."
Though Sir Ilivan really looks like he wants to say something he seems to think better of it and simply gives the slightest shake of his head. Commander Wardroxan doesn't seem to catch it, which is perhaps a good thing, as her expression turns to one of relief.
"Thank you. I know this is outside of what was originally expected of you and I do apologize."
"Do you happen to have any cold iron bullets, and gunpowder? Or a place I can make some?"
"Bullets and gunpowder? No, I'm afraid we do not," the commander answers with a shake of her head. "But if you have the supplies to make them yourself then you are welcome to use our forge. It isn’t much but I can also open the fort’s armory to you; you may take any supplies that you think you might need from there."
"Buzz normally, does this stone?" The Grandfrogger eyes the menhir with large red eyes. "Ignored it, you said the demons did. Compromised, is it?"
"Or they have some sort of protection against it now? How does the stone normally work? If we know more, when we track them down we will try to solve that conundrum as well."
"Mm...perhaps..." Commander Wardroxan replies, a flicker of worry crossing her face. "I have some ideas of my own but right now I'm more concerned about my people, to be honest. But if any of you wish to have a closer look while you make your preparations then be my guest."
After examining the wardstone, taking some notes, and recalling what you already might know about such things, you come to the conclusion that the wardstone has indeed been drained of much of its power. What remnants that remain can likely only be accessed by a very powerful source at this point - something that's beyond the power of you and your allies to do.
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"Some of us have some training and skill in dealing with esoteric constructs, and most of us have encountered enigmatic power sources on our assignments. If you share your ideas, it may inspire a line of thinking that could help to save the fort and any place where the wardstones are failing."
Commander Wardroxan looks a bit surprised when Maria shares her findings...but also maybe a little vindicated, too. She looks at Zithembe and smiles, a bit ruefully.
"Your friend's findings and theories match my own. Whatever power remains in the wardstones, it's beyond our ability to access and I believe it's also beyond our ability to repair."
And while she looks thankful for the group's concern about the wardstone, the commander shakes her head in the negative as Rumble and Maria offer suggestions on how to repair or recharge it.
"Believe me, I appreciate your willingness to help but there isn't anything else to be done at the moment. Normally the wardstones are maintained through regular prayer and annual rituals but our efforts haven't seemed to help. If you would bring word of this to Nerosyan when you return, perhaps some of our more powerful allies, versed in the divine and arcane, will know what to do."
"I am afraid I have other matters that I must attend to but you are welcome to what hospitality we can offer you this night," Commander Wardroxan continues. "As well as the contents of our armory, as I already mentioned. I will go and notify the quartermaster of my decision."
She offers all of you a bow and then turns and hurries out of the chamber, leaving you alone.
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As soon as he seems certain that you're truly alone in the chamber Sir Ilivan turns to the rest of you, shaking his head.
"This 'rescue mission' is truly a fool's errand. While we had visual confirmation of survivors during our earlier encounter, we have no proof that any of those men and women are still alive. It's not uncommon for these demons to capture crusaders as food, slaves, or pawns to be made 'examples' of. They've likely already been killed for food or sport at this point and that woman knows it. This whole idea of a rescue is just a suicide mission dreamt up by an inexperienced commander too blinded with guilt to see reason."
His expression hardens.
"You can't just wish away a bad call. A person will carry it with them for the rest of their days. Part and parcel of leading and it's the commander's time to learn it. We ought return to Nerosyan in the morning, give our report, and be done with it."
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"We volunteered to discharge the Pathfinder Society's obligations to the Crusade" Effie adds. "And to place ourselves under your command, Sir Ilivan. But..." she sighs, "even though you are probably right about the Commander, and about the soldiers' fates, there is more at stake here."
I'm not a soldier, but I hope I can make him understand.
"If we can save someone from torture and death at the hands of demons, then it is right that we try. It may have been wrong tactically to send the cavalry out, but it was right morally. More to the point Sir Illivan, there is a force of demons nearby and the fort's wardstone is failing, perhaps has already failed. When those fiends are done with the soldiers they've already captured, they'll be back for more. Walls aren't going to keep them out."
"We're experienced fighters. You've seen that. Let us help. If we can push back or destroy the local demon forces, we might buy the time that the Crusade needs to fix the wardstone. If we do nothing, then everyone in this fort is surely doomed."
"You don't have to come with us. Go ahead to Nerosyan and give your report if you prefer. But let us go and fight."
A fire glows in Effie's eyes...
Bloody hell, Effie, where did that come from? Don't speak for the rest! Well... Rumble is a given and probably Zith too but...
She looks to her comrades, a little nervous that some of them might not feel the same.
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Hepsubia takes a coin out of her purse, looks at the Real Slim Effie and throw the coin in the air, saying
Heads I come with you fighting the demon. Tails you come with me fighting the demon.
She doesn't bother looking for the result of her coin toss.
She doesn't bother picking the
silver coin either.
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"Ih doesn' sound like tha Fort could take anothah assault. Savin' whah's left ah tha prisoners might be whah keeps tha Fort standin' fer tha righteous!" Rumble adds.
"Effie, aye've nevah met ah carnie like ye! There's ah fire in ye, lass! " he roars, smashing his hammer against the floor.
"No, I have a duty to you and I will not leave you behind," Sir Ilivan flatly replies to Zithembe. "Splitting up out here is just asking for trouble."
And as if aware of the irony of speaking about 'duty' after urging you to leave the soldiers to their fate, the crusader suddenly offers a small, grim smile.
"And you're right. By the gods, you're right. I came out here to find a purpose in life and for 18 years I've had one. I'd probably live longer if I went back to the smuggling game or ran away to the Mwangi but what's the point of getting old and grey if you spend all that time just drifting?"
Thanks to everyone's words, Effie's in particular, it almost seems as though Sir Ilivan has reached an epiphany of sorts, though he clearly still doesn't share Effie's boundless optimism as he adds, "It's probably all still a fool's errand but I'll grant you that we won't know for sure if we don't at least track those demons down. And you're not going out there alone, that's for damn sure!"
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With Sir Ilivan thankfully on board with the rescue plan you're able to spend the rest of your evening making preparations for the day to come. A quick perusal of the armory reveals that they have at least a few things that might come in handy.
Potion of Cure Moderate Wounds x2
Potion of Shield of Faith x3 (CL 6th)
Holy Water x10
Any simple or martial weapon from the Core Rulebook
Zithembe also has some time to ponder what he knows of demons in general as well as dretches and schirs in particular. While he doesn't remember much about schir demons, he recalls that dretch demons can use a number of spell-like powers on a limited basis, such as striking fear into the heart of a foe, conjuring a cloud of stink, and summoning others of their kind.
1/day - Cause Fear, Stinking Cloud, Summon (Level 1, 1 dretch 35%)
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"That is an appreciated change in position," Zithembe remarks.
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While reviewing the quartermaster's supplies, he commends, "The fort seems depleted of supplies that would help against the common demonic foes. When we sit down for dinner, I will describe what we can expect from the demons so that we can prepare."