LAND, GOLD, AND TITLE! These were the lofty promises made, printed on handbills, declaimed by town criers, and trickling through the whispers of all Korvosa and her holdings. Land, gold, and title promised for taming the great swath of wilderness known as the Bloodsworn Vale, but so far, the journey there has been little more than hardship and boredom.
As the miles roll past and the Mindspin Mountains draw ever nearer, the merchants, laborers, and fresh military conscripts you travel with have grown steadily more subdued. The darker whispers in Korvosa had spoken of delays and trouble rebuilding the trade road through the mountains, entire work crews lost in the wilderness, and fearsome creatures harrassing reconstruction efforts; some even whispered that the Vale is haunted or cursed.
But finally, after almost a fortnight of slow, difficult travel on the trail of disrepair that is the current Bloodsworn Vale "road", the caravan prepares for their last day’s travel at their camp in the Icedeep Pass, and the passengers cease their preparations for a moment to take in the view as the sun rises. Far in the distance, the ice-capped peaks of the Mindspin Mountains are a silver crown, blazing in the early light atop a lush green wilderness. Below spreads a sea of leaves, their green beginning to fade toward autumnal gold, with islands of blood-red roses between the rolling waves of the branches.
One other island drifts in this sea of wildness - a wooden palisade surrounding a knot of buildings around ten miles ahead. A thin wisp of smoke curls upward from one of the larger buildings, evoking images of warm hearths and hearty meals, welcome after so many days of difficult travel. And seeing the vastness and richness of the Vale’s wilderness - well, maybe the promises of “Land, Gold, and Title” don’t seem as remote as they once did.
I cannot believe Balthas!
Anthuria sits in the wagon, picking nettles from her disheveled hair and her once-flawless embroidered tunic. She broods.
Earlier that morning, the group was collecting their belongings, preparing for departure. Anthuria had just happened to glance up and a flash of silverish-purple, in between the distant bushes, caught her eye.
Snowshoe blossom? she asked herself in wonder. Snowshoe blossom never blooms this early in the year!
With heinous glee she rushed away from camp and toward the tulgey wood. As she approached she nimbly sidestepped the patches of nettlebush 'twixt her and the flower.
"Stay OUT of the woods!" Balthas barked behind her.
Give me a break, she thought. It's barely past the treeline!
Just as she had reached the specimen and was about to carefully (oh so carefully) extract the bloom, she heard a rustling in the brush. Suddenly, something seized her ankle! Her scream was cut short as she was yanked back and pulled, pulled by that inhospitable creature that Balthas calls a dog! Through the nettlebush--not one, not two, but three patches the dog drug her. She was so terrified at the time she couldn't even react. All she could say was that she had found herself lying on the ground, altogether bedraggled, as the dog sat nearby drooling with self-satisfaction. Balthas chortled in the distance.
Balthas had at first struck her as quiet and irate. After a day or so, though, he began to respond to her questions. What's your name? Is your dog always so unfriendly? Would you like a tomato? And then he began to ask her some of his own. What do you mean you've never scalped a goblin?? This repartee had continued along at an agreeable pace, but he was becoming somewhat over-protective.
Mairen doesn't seem bothered by him, though. The two are old friends, apparently. She simply laughs off Balthas's irascible moods.
With an exasperated huff, she gestures. The remaining nettles dissolve away and her hair and tunic begin to magically reestablish themselves into some semblance of propriety.
I hope Jetta didn't see, she'll think I'm absolutely hopeless! She still isn't sure if the hellknight recognizes her or not, but Anthuria is certain it's the same person who helped her after her father died. She has, consequently, developed a keen interest in proving herself to be a mature, seasoned adult. It's paramount, actually.
Anthuria looks up, searching for the others.
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"Land, gold, and title," mused Percival, moving the handbill under the thin sheets of sunlight filtering through the carriage's window. The cold mists of the morning gave a hint of the dying summer, and a promise of a solid winter.
"Word on the path has markedly less fanfare than closer to home, sir," came Enrico's old, measured voice from the outside of the carriage. Percival noticed a hint of ire in the old bard's voice that was nearly trademark of him.
"Have faith, Enrico," Percival said with a grin, studying an unsent scroll. "What, more tales of fey, ogres, and bandits?"
"I daresay that we might be running into more dangerous foes than them, sir," returned the voice. "Word is that the vale is cursed."
"A land becoming cursed after centuries of bloody warfare and civil strife? What are the odds?"
"I'd hate to return to Lady Emmeline with no more than cocky lines to add to your eulogy," Enrico said. Percival said nothing to that, but kept his smile. "These old bones tell me that what we're about to face is more than mere orcs."
"I know the folk call this vale cursed," he replied after a long pause. "I have faith in my lord and master, and so should you."
"Coin and law speak clearly enough--only if everyone wants to listen," returned the tired bard after a cough. Percival stared out through the window, and returned to his scrolls, looking over them with glassy eyes. He raised a signed agreement with one Amund Basurto to his eyes.
He is no Sir Leonid, but he came with the highest recommendations, he thought, leaning back.
He was a handsome man in his early forties: his long curls of deep brown hair were lined with gray at his temples, styled in common fashion in Karvosa.
Having sharp, keen features, Perry was never seen (or known) as a fool who embarks on flights of fancy. However, despite the weight of the name Arizian and 'his lordship', things were not so well for him--at least compared to five years ago.
He financial state (well-hidden to his rivals in the court) caused him to follow the grandiose promises made by King Eodred.
Knowing about how little competition came from his opportunistic noble peers caused him (and his dear wife Emma) anxieties that gnawed on him ever since he made clear his intentions to join the effort.
"LAND, GOLD, AND TITLE.
What Percival needed, however, was something more akin to hope.
"My lord, look to the horizon," came Enrico's voice from outside. Looking up from his reverie, and relaxing his hold on a stylized iron key symbol of the god Abadar, Percival looked out. A caravan headed across the path to what could only be described as the settlement of Fort Thorn: a wooden palisade surrounding a knot of buildings, ahead about ten miles. A trail of smoke rising to the skies gave a hint of the possible bustle and hustle within.
"It seems we reached our new winter-home," he said with a thin smile, as the carriage steadily moved up the path to the gates of the settlement.
LAND, GOLD, AND TITLE read the handbill Balthus unfurled in his calloused hands. He looked around to see if anyone would challenge his right to read but saw others meet his gaze and look away.
Yes, he could read. Slowly. But he could. Balthus was only interested in land and maybe a little gold. But title? He put his hand on top of the hound lying next to him, "What do you think Slasher? Do you think they'll make me a Lord?
Slasher's low growl was enough to make Balthus take his hand away. Quickly. Mangy old dog... he muttered.
He looked about his present company. Marien was a pleasant surprise. The girl could take care of herself even if one day she was going to cook herself to death in that tin can suit she wore. And Anthuria had turned out to be quite knowledgeable of garden and plants, something the old man felt close to. She was also pleasant in her own way.
He turned to them and asked, "So why are you both here? Mairen, do you owe people some money? Are you in trouble with the law? And Anthuria, this is a dangerous place. Much more dangerous than your gardens so I think you should stay at the fort and head back as soon as the next caravan goes back to Korvosa, yes?"
Mairen leaned back against the wood siding of the caravan, allowing the rocking and swaying of the vehicle to lull her into a meditative state. A smile curled the corner of her lips. Paladins don't nap, old Sir Joeris had snapped at her once when caught. They meditate.
Still, it wasn't hard to pick up on the low muttering on all sides of her. "...the roses are crimson due to all the... I heard that a band of 'em, forty strong, came roaring at them and... me, a lord? Can you imagine? With title and... gold is what I'm talking about, good old fashioned leave a dent with your teeth gold..."
She shifted her weight. After years of wearing her full plate, it had almost become like a second skin. Almost. The padded undercoat, mail hauberk, and then all the strapped curvatures of steel went unnoticed most of the time, her frame grown muscled and strong from the constant exercise of bearing the forty or so pounds of metal. Yet sitting here in the sun? Her smile re-appeared. She'd never admit it, but Balthus might have a point.
Mairen cracked open an eye and looked over at where her old friend sat, swaying along with everyone as the horses plodded on. It had been good to see him at the staging ground, his old dog as mean and sharp and ever. A little more gray in his hair, the lines around his mouth a little deeper, but she'd noticed his ax looked as well kept as ever, and he moved with that some lethal lightness that hinted that none of his skills had gone to waste. She felt better for him him along, knowing that she could trust at least one person to guard her back.
Her gaze slid along the faces. Most she didn't know. And then there was the Hell Knight from that tavern a few nights ago. That was a surprise. Mairen didn't know much about their order other than to show them the same caution one would show a thorn bush, but it was interesting to have one such as her along. She had already focused on Jetta to detect any traces of evil, and finding none, had relaxed a margin. Interesting.
"Excuse me?" She blinked and raised a hand to visor against the sun. Balthus had just asked her a question. "Owe people money?" For a moment she missed his tone, and then caught the gleam in his eye and smiled, a full smile this time. "Oh yes, you know me. I have such gambling debts to pay." She lowered her hand and looked out over the wilderness that was the vale. "Erastil will be pleased if we bring order and civilization to his valley." This said quietly. "A lot of room for good work here. Plenty to do."
Jetta did not care about land or titles, and gold was the last thing on her mind as the caravan neared the Vale.
When they left Korvosa, the Hellknight had been accompanied by two armigers. They had split from the party halfway, however, riding towards Citadel Vraid in the southwest. This was her mission: she could not count on receiving any reinforcements. The thought filled her with excitement and pride, though at the same time she felt strangely alone. Something separated her from the others in the caravan. She felt the same when she patrolled in Korvosa, which had once been her home. That she was used to. However, for the past few years, she could barely remember a moment without her comrades at her side.
Amongst the civilians, she could recognise the guardsman and the armoured woman from the Leftovers. The former was known to her, though Jetta struggled to remember his name. She sometimes had the same trouble with the new armigers, having to assign them nicknames to keep track of who was who. He was a dependable man, nonetheless. The latter had been helpful as well, though something about the way she had spoken to Jetta made her bristle. Some of the others in the caravan seemed capable too, others less so. Still, none were Hellknights. She could only expect so much from them, and she could not trust them like those of her order.
So she had spent most of the journey at the back of the caravan, riding her black steed in vigilant silence. She mostly kept to herself, though her solitude was only partly self-imposed. Even amidst the clamour of the caravan, people were careful to give the Hellknight her space. She was quick to ride up at any sign of trouble, but the trip had mostly been peaceful. In truth, Jetta was a little disappointed. The worst that had happened was some people wandering off, or getting spooked by wild animals. No bandits or monsters, or any of the other rumoured horrors. She was quick to admonish herself for such thoughts, but remained anxious.
As the caravan prepared for their last day of travel at Icedeep Pass, Jetta stopped to look at the Vale for the first time. The trees were aflame with the colours of fall, and the ground ran with the blood of roses. Even now, she could remember the stories she had read as a child: tales of brave Chelaxian soldiers going to battle against the Shoanti barbarians, forging their way through the wilderness. In her minds eye, she could see the armies clashing. Hidden behind the featureless faceplate of her helm, the young woman cannot help but to burst into an excited grin.
Not knowing what to expect on the road but knowing there is the potential for danger Amund ensures before he leaves to arm himself, his mount, and his mongrel. Dressed in a shiny silver breastplate with his guard uniform underneath Amund looks like well off member of the Korvosan Guard. A few bags hang around his waist along with manacles and a long sword. The horse wears metal armor and appears remarkably calm when compared to the dog next to it. Said dog like its master dons armor of its own but not as well as the other two. Frequently alternating between rolling around and chewing on it only stopping when told to then going back to the bad behavior once he is not being watched. This mannor of dress and behavior is typical of Amund for the for the entire trip.
Not even planning to sit ideally for a day in a rocking wagon Amund mounts the blue dun mare once the caravan is ready to leave. Leaning in towards the mares head while scratching behind her ear he mumbles Lets get going Pretty Girl. Looking down at the dog who is chewing on the armor it is wearing. Uras! No! Come on.
Right out of the metaphorical gate though Ursa runs up to the older man's dog completely disregarding Amunds commands. Leaping in front of a older dog apparently named Slasher, Ursa puts his face and front paws to the ground and wiggles his tail in the air practically begging to play. Jumping off the horse Amund bodily picks the lightly armored pup up and stares into its face. Whining Ursa tries to lick Amunds face. Quickly walking over to the horse he puts the dog on the saddle and walks beside then for an hour before letting the morose puppy down. This has happened before and will most likely happen again.
Much of his time during the trip is spent throwing sticks for Ursa to fetch. He keeps completely to himself opting to deal with his animals instead of people.
Anthuria regarded Balthus with the sort of blithe curiosity she might show a new color of orchid. By now she was getting used to the older man's ways and knew not to take him (too) seriously. "Don't worry, I have a brave, strong protector. And of course of I mean Slasher." She motioned toward the dog and smiled. She had grown fond of him. He was rather cute, after all.
She closed her eyes and let the bright morning sun wash over her. Her lips and eyelids tingled, and her skin flushed. She breathed in deeply, savoring the rich scent of soil and verdure. Since entering the Vale the world had seemed to come alive, and she with it. She felt better than she had in a long while. She was more robust, more alert. She gazed ahead toward the rose-kissed woodlands, lost in complete reverie.
And to think, people actually fear this place.
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The morning preparations complete without incident, although it nearly comes to blows when a merchant wagon's aurochs gets loose and threatens to damage the Varisian harrower Katsa's cart. The stress of the difficult travel is beginning to wear on morale, though from the excited chatter throughout camp it's clear that having the fort in sight has lifted spirits.
The caravan sets off from its bivouac point at Icedeep Pass, making its way down into the overgrown forest. Travel along the ill-maintained road is at best difficult, at worst nearly impassable. With all the stops the main caravan has to make to clear brush and vines from the path, it's not long before Lord Arizian's carriage catches up, although he allows the caravan to keep some lead on him.
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After several hours' travel, the line of wagons begins to slow. There's a fork in the road ahead, and it seems there's some difference of opinion on which is the best path to take. While the guide hired by the Jeggare Mining Corporation advocates taking the wider and (slightly) more traveled left path, the Varisian harrower Katsa insists that the Cricket and the Big Sky have foretold good fortune for all willing to let fate guide them toward a new way, and a couple of the guides put great stock in her predictions.
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The argument continues as the wagons approach the fork, and as the caravan reaches the split, it stops completely, the guides still divided in their opinions. Anthuria takes the opportunity to wander toward the brush without fear of being left behind; Balthus is in his usual place scouting at the head of the procession, Amund acting as an outrider for the line. Mairen and Jetta are with their customary wagons, and Perry remains in his carriage at the back.
But suddenly, the argument is cut off as Amund, holds up a hand, putting a finger to his lips. Something in the brush! he hisses, wheeling Pretty Girl around and pointing to the right of the path. And there! he adds, waving a hand toward several points surrounding the path.
Here's how I do combat. I'll make initiative rolls (and Perception rolls concerning surprise rounds, if necessary) to determine where people act in relation to any assailants. I'll call out who gets to act before the assailants in the first (or surprise) round; those people can act in whatever order they see fit.
You don't need to wait for someone who rolled higher than you to act, as long as you go before any enemies. After those people have acted, the enemies will act, then I'll call out who's acting next. Again, if I've called you out, you don't need to wait for anyone else to act. Just post your action as usual and assume that actions have taken place in the order they're posted before you.
Any questions, feel free to ask.
I'm using Google Slides for mapping purposes - it has the advantage of having an app available for phones, so hopefully everyone should be able to access and edit it most of the time. The link to this encounter's map is in the campaign blurb at the top of the page. Your icons should be fairly recognizable. The horse is Pretty Girl's icon, the white pips are wagons, and the yellow pips are your assailants. If anyone has trouble accessing the map or moving their icon around, let me know.
After several hours' travel, the line of wagons begins to slow. There's a fork in the road ahead, and it seems there's some difference of opinion on which is the best path to take. While the guide hired by the Jeggare Mining Corporation advocates taking the wider and (slightly) more traveled left path, the Varisian harrower Katsa insists that the Cricket and the Big Sky have foretold good fortune for all willing to let fate guide them toward a new way, and a couple of the guides put great stock in her predictions.
Balthus is just about to shove the harrow deck or whatever it's called down the soothsayer's throat. Since when did old women have anything to say when it came to safety?Especially women who probably never left their home towns?
He firmly sides with the practical guides who seemed to have knowledge of the area and nears both Meiren and Anthuria warning them, "Stay out of the argument. Men don't like women who argue too much."
Mairen smiles and leans back against the wagon's inner wall, both arms outstretched and draped over the edge, sword resting across her lap. She leans her head back and closes her eyes, enjoying the sun.
"You say the most ridiculous things sometimes, Balthus. If I didn't know you better, I wouldn't take you seriously at all."
Anthuria laughs inwardly at Balthus's comment. She wonders how successful he is with women. A ludicrous image suddenly forms in her mind: Balthus on stage, dressed in loincloth in a production of Agravadio's The Rebirth of Innocence. She smirks.
She glances at Mairen. The paladin is not much for conversation, but when she chooses to speak she exposes a kind heart. Anthuria has been building up the courage to talk to her. She takes a breath.
"That's a truly beautiful sword you carry. I especially like the ivy ornamentation on the, ah, handle. It's vox-leaf if I'm not mistaken?
After several hours' travel, the line of wagons begins to slow. There's a fork in the road ahead, and it seems there's some difference of opinion on which is the best path to take. While the guide hired by the Jeggare Mining Corporation advocates taking the wider and (slightly) more traveled left path, the Varisian harrower Katsa insists that the Cricket and the Big Sky have foretold good fortune for all willing to let fate guide them toward a new way, and a couple of the guides put great stock in her predictions.
Jetta rides up to see what is slowing down the caravan, and what all the noise is about.
She cuts into the argument saying, "We can't endanger the lives of everyone in this caravan based on superstition."
Turning towards the guides she adds, "There are a lot of tired people back there. We might have a riot in our hands if you insist on slowing us down so close to the Fort. Do your jobs, and get us there."
"And you," she growls, pointing a gauntleted finger at the Harrower. "Cease this nonsense at once, or I will be forced to take you into custody."
Spinning Pretty Girl to glare at the older man Amund calls out his opinion. Balthus there is no reason to be rude to the woman. Harrowers have their purpose in the world. Turing towards the Harrower, Katsa I have never heard of the Cricket or the Big Sky so who are they supposed to be much less why would they care about our endeavor.
Balthus is quietly content with the hellknight taking charge and urging people forward. When things seemed to be going well or at least as well as could be, Amund spoke.
Spinning Pretty Girl to glare at the older man Amund calls out his opinion. "Balthus there is no reason to be rude to the woman. Harrowers have their purpose in the world."
Balthus was about to bark out a response when he started counting. "1... 2... 3..."
He then breathed deep and addressed the young man, "Listen boy, there's no doubt that Harrowers or whatever they are called have a place in the world. But they don't have place in my caravan, making decisions that should be based on practical knowledge and made by experienced guides."
He looked about and added, "If you can't understand that, then I'm afraid the place where we are going may not be the best place for you to be."
Turing back to Balthus the frown on his face deepening. Not your caravan old man, it is the one you are traveling with. My objection was do to your slander on her being a woman.
Turning to look around at everyone there, To be noted the room more traveled is likely to have more bandits on it. Bandits tend to travel on the roads most traveled.
Sighing, then turning back look Balthus in the eyes. Do not claim to know of my goals or the knowledge that I have concerning the world.
Katsa I have never heard of the Cricket or the Big Sky so who are they supposed to be much less why would they care about our endeavor.
You acknowledge the cards' power, then - better than these closed-minded ingrates. Katsa replies to Amund with a scowl, digging out a worn Harrow deck from her pocket and thumbing through the cards, glaring at Balthus and Jetta. These ones think I lead them astray, blind to the truth I speak - this one calls it mere nonsense! Katsa flashes another reproachful look at Jetta, though the look at Jetta's imposing armor and steely glare seems to cow her away from direct confrontation; she turns her attentions back to Amund. But you - your eyes are open, you see truth. You are wise, my friend.
But it seems you have much to learn yet. The Sky opens for those destined for a great change, those destined to pull free of their past and open their eyes to a new world. And the Cricket grants good fortune to travelers, promises great rewards at journey's end. When the Cricket dances beneath the Big Sky, what else could it mean but that taking the road less traveled will rain Lady Luck's blessings upon us?
With another look at Balthus and Jetta scowling at her, Katsa shuffles her deck back together and wiggles it back into its wood box. Ignore me if you wish; I merely offer my wisdom for the good of all of our company. I cannot force you to drink deep of it, though I hold forth a goblet of finest honeyed wine amidst the desert sands...
Turing back to Balthus the frown on his face deepening. Not your caravan old man, it is the one you are traveling with. My objection was do to your slander on her being a woman.
Turning to look around at everyone there, To be noted the room more traveled is likely to have more bandits on it. Bandits tend to travel on the roads most traveled.
Sighing, then turning back look Balthus in the eyes. Do not claim to know of my goals or the knowledge that I have concerning the world.
Once more Balthus held his tongue but wondered how long he would be able to do so with such stupidity.
"You confuse practicality with slander. Like I said before, she has her place but it's not directing a caravan." He scoffed, "You should talk to her, maybe she'll tell you where you'll find your next wench."
He was about to turn back but added, "Oh and I claim no knowledge of you and your ways but it's clearly not on the trail so maybe take a step back to watch and listen to those that have done this before."
With another look at Balthus and Jetta scowling at her, Katsa shuffles her deck back together and wiggles it back into its wood box. Ignore me if you wish; I merely offer my wisdom for the good of all of our company. I cannot force you to drink deep of it, though I hold forth a goblet of finest honeyed wine amidst the desert sands...
"Indeed," exclaims the Hellknight. "You can't. Now, if you'll come with me I'll escort you back to your cart..."
Jetta's horse takes one threatening step closer to the Harrower, and she points back to the caravan. The tone of strained patience in her voice clearly signals what she leaves unsaid:
...or I'll drag you there.
[Once more Balthus held his tongue but wondered how long he would be able to do so with such stupidity.
"You confuse practicality with slander. Like I said before, she has her place but it's not directing a caravan." He scoffed, "You should talk to her, maybe she'll tell you where you'll find your next wench."
He was about to turn back but added, "Oh and I claim no knowledge of you and your ways but it's clearly not on the trail so maybe take a step back to watch and listen to those that have done this before."
Amunds mouth drops in shock at the recommendation that he should get help to find a wench. Quickly shutting his mouth and closing his eyes, It is like dealing with the drunks!One, two, three. Opening his eyes to meet Balthus's when he speaks again. You must not be used to dealing with people. When you want them to listen to you insulting them first only angers them. I know to bow to the more knowledgeable members of the caravan. The guards and the guides are the ones to make that call. The unspoken part is rather clear, And that is not you, old man.
You must not be used to dealing with people. When you want them to listen to you insulting them first only angers them. I know to bow to the more knowledgeable members of the caravan. The guards and the guides are the ones to make that call. The unspoken part is rather clear, And that is not you, old man.
Balthus seemed smug, knowing in his mind that he won the argument, he was about to gloat. First and foremost a practical man, he decided against gloating. Who knows? Maybe this boy will have my back one day.
He simply nodded and echoed Amund, "I'm glad we agree. The decision needs to be made by the guides."
He then whistled his hound over and headed back to the wagons. He turned to the others, "Stay calm, we'll be starting back up again shortly."
Jetta silently rolls her eyes at Amund and Balthus' posturing, continuing to sheperd the Harrower back to her cart.
Balthus seemed smug, knowing in his mind that he won the argument, he was about to gloat. First and foremost a practical man, he decided against gloating. Who knows? Maybe this boy will have my back one day.
He simply nodded and echoed Amund, "I'm glad we agree. The decision needs to be made by the guides."
He then whistled his hound over and headed back to the wagons. He turned to the others, "Stay calm, we'll be starting back up again shortly."
Agitation rolls off of Amund at the smug look on Balthus but he keeps he quite letting the older man speak. Nodding his agreement when Balthus agrees with his previous statement Amund turns back to looking at the forest.
When the bitter old man whistles Ursa moves to follow, Ursa stay. The pup whines but remains near his master. Maybe if we find him a woman he will be less of an ass. Ursion you should be the one here not me. The old man was right about at least that.
Suddenly, the argument is cut off as Amund holds up a hand, putting a finger to his lips. Something in the brush! he hisses, wheeling Pretty Girl around and pointing to the right of the path. And there! he adds, waving a hand toward several points surrounding the path.
Whoever is there come out! So long as you mean us no harm we mean you none.
Amund shouts to the hidden figures, hoping to coax them into a friendly (or at least less confrontational) introduction.
It quickly becomes evident, though, that talking isn't going to do much good. As his call rings out among the trees, the sentence is suddenly punctuated by the thump of a javelin into the side of Mairen's wagon behind him. Three more quickly follow - two sail harmlessly past their targets, one aimed at Balthus and one at Anthuria, but one finds its mark, digging into Amund's shoulder.
But in standing to throw, the targets have revealed themselves. They're vaguely human-like, though a head higher than most humans and hideously ugly, with large, floppy ears, tiny milk-white eyes on either side of a pig-like nose, and a mess of yellowed needle-white teeth. Yah! Mean no harm? Means lots o'harm - we wants t'see yeh dance before we takes stuff! Their ears bob as they let out cruel, wheezing laughs.
Balthus instinctively ducked when the javelin flew towards him.
He knew that wheezing laugh anywhere. It was branded on his mind years ago. These were bugbears and he knew how to kill them. He paid for that knowledge with months of nightmares after the brutes had killed some dear friends of his.
But now he knew how to kill them.
He pulled out his short bow and an arrow flew to the target, quickly followed by a second. One shaft sunk deep into the bulbous head while the second forced the bugbear to gurgle through a hole in its throat.
He was about to send Slasher to protect Anthuria but the dog was already on his way. "Mangy hound is supposed to wait for my order."
Slasher ate up the ground with great leaps towards the girl...
Balthus started barking orders, "Everyone back to wagons!" Although he would not admit to it later, the grumpy, old man became worried for the grandma soothsayer, hoping she was safely back inside.
Balthus's first arrow was enough to send the bugbear into a slump; the second arrow that hit on its way down was enough to ensure that the creature would no longer be a problem.
Slasher's long strides are enough to eat up the distance between Balthus and the bugbear whose javelin flew toward Anthuria; his teeth and claws don't do enough to take the bugbear out of commission entirely, but the jerk of his powerful jaws sends the bugbear to the ground with a screech of rage.
Mairen ducks as the javelin thunks into the side of the wagon, and then her instincts take over. Years of being in exactly this kind of situation makes her reactions smooth, almost oiled. There's only two possible responses to an ambush like this - to whip the horses and try to leave it behind, or attack. With their group unsure as to which fork to take, that leaves only one choice, so Mairen snatches up her blade, leaps over the side of her wagon, and charges right at one of the bugbears.
Her longsword flashes in the sun as she brings it whistling down on her foe.
The cavalier's warning causes Anthuria to look up. Suddenly, a heavy projectile flies by her head. She feels the wind from it and whirls around instinctively.
The creature is hideous, like something from her childhood nightmares. Terrified, she raises her hands in a defensive posture.
"No!" she screams, almost imploringly.
She doesn't mean the creature harm. Yet, without willing it, a mass of green energy projects from her outstretched hand and torpedos toward the creature.
;
Without waiting to look, she spins around and runs back toward Mairen's wagon. She drops prone beside it, seeking cover.
Opting to keep at a distance Amund calls to Ursa, Watch the people.The pup runs back over to the wagon while Amund swings his Guisarme
Jetta is taken by surprise as javelins start raining down on the caravan, but her training takes over almost immediately.
"Get to cover!" she shouts at the Harrower, turning to face the snarling bugbears.
Struggling to control her horse, the Hellknight snaps the reins to drive his steed into a reckless charge. As the black stallion rushes towards the target, she rises in the saddle and lets go of the reins entirely. Hefting her halberd in both hands, she tries to thrust it down at the enemy spear-head first.
Mairen's powerful swing connects solidly with her foe, and the blow rocks him. Nursing the deep gash in his shoulder, he tries to back into the brush away from Mairen's sword, but the exertion of fighting through the bushes finally overtaxes him, and he falls to the ground several feet into the bushes.
The mass of energy from Anthuria's hand hurtles toward the bugbear, but he easily ducks aside, and it goes wide, splashing against the trunk of a nearby tree with a hiss. Amund's first attack goes wide as well, but his second attack makes contact, nearly dropping the bugbear where he stands, and when Jetta adds her powerful swing to the onslaught, the bugbear falls with a heavy thump.
The final bugbear lets loose a string of curses as Slasher savagely yanks at his leg. Kicking the dog aside, he tries to crawl backward into the brush...
...but Slasher will brook no retreat. He tears into the bugbear with savage ferocity, and by the time he's finished, it's clear the creature is going nowhere.
A few things they carry stand out, though. One pack contains three heavy iron spikes with curious symbols carved into their heads. A belt pouch contains a handful of a black dust, scintillating strangely in the filtered sunlight of the trail. And when you withdraw one of the daggers from its scabbard, the blade is curiously sharp and corrosion-free, in sharp contrast to the rusty handle.
After several moments, heads begin to poke out from carts and wagons, and the caravan breathes a collective sigh of relief. Fortunately, the only real injury in the group was sustained by Amund, and that only a glancing blow off of his breastplate.
Slasher came back to Balthus, its jaws crimson, its nape hairs still bristling.
The ranger patted the hound while murmuring his thanks. He then allowed the mutt to slink around; Slasher usually was alert and anxious long after the last enemy was killed. Balthus thought that the dog took it upon himself to make sure none came back.
Balthus then went to retrieve his arrows, hoping to make good use of them again.
Shortly thereafter he turned to the others, "Everybody OK? Anthuria, you alright girl?"
The ranger saw the nick on Amund and also showed concern. There was no better way to make friends than to find a greater enemy. "You need help binding that up, boy?"
Anthuria spits the last bits of soil and grass from her mouth as she stands, brushing herself off. She glances woefully at her soiled tunic and adjusts her Theumanexus badge.
Fine, fine," she says, her voice shaking. "Never better." She takes a moment to compose herself, then, "What were those things, and why would they attack us?"
She eyes the black dust warily.
Anthuria dips her finger into the dark powder and places it on her tongue. She frowns.
"Dust of tracelessness," she murmers. "We have samples of this at the college. It's used to conceal evidence of passage. Might these creatures be attempting to conceal their own presence, or someone else's?"
Jetta nods approvingly at Amund, as their onslaught had felled the bugbear.
"Just a scratch," she says as she leans in to inspect the guardsman's wounds.
She then moves to search the bodies, gathering anything that might be useful.
She takes a moment to compose herself, then, "What were those things, and why would they attack us?"
"Bugbears," Jetta grumbles. "They're monsters. They don't need a reason."
Anthuria dips her finger into the dark powder and places it on her tongue. She frowns.
"Dust of tracelessness," she murmers. "We have samples of this at the college. It's used to conceal evidence of passage. Might these creatures be attempting to conceal their own presence, or someone else's?"
Paying direct attention to Anthuria for the first time since the caravan left Korvosa, Jetta looks to her and says, "Interesting. They're likely trying to stop us from finding their hideout. That means they have one..."
The Hellknight dumps the rest of the items in front on Anthuria. "You're a wizard then? Take a look at these."
Mairen cleans her blade carefully, and then does a quick circuit of the ambush site, examining the ground and searching for some evidence that the bugbears have used this spot before.
That done, she checks in with Balthus, clapping him on the shoulder, and then walks to the head of the caravan where she finds whomever is in charge.
"We're done here, friend." Her tone is quiet but authoritative. "Give the command for the caravans to begin moving again. It's time we arrived at Fort Thorn."
Amund nods back to the Hellknight. Intending to move back to the caravan Amund is stopped by Balthus, Thank you for the concern Balthus but Jetta is correct it is just a scratch. Odd man, now he cares.
He quickly heads back towards the caravan to see about leaving and hears Mairen speaking. She is correct. Pick a path and let us be off.
When Jetta passes along the new items for inspection, Anthuria discovers that the spikes faintly radiate abjuration magics. The dagger itself shows no hints of magic, but the scabbard it is ensconced in emanates a faint transmutation aura. She's able to tease out little else about the items' function, though; perhaps her recollection will serve her better with another inspection later.
Slasher continues to worry, barking at gusts of wind in the bushes and birds taking wing from the trees, but no other danger presents itself at the fork in the road. After a few minutes of regrouping and calming the more nervous travelers, the caravan sets off again; the more superstitious contingent, led by Katsa, bows to the wishes of the others in taking the more-traveled path, though not without some (mostly good-natured) grumbling.
The day is perfect for travel (bugbear ambushes notwithstanding) - a light breeze whispers through the leaves, and an early chill counters the exertion of travel nicely. The smoke from the chimneys of Fort Thorn rises only a few miles ahead, and so far you have encountered no other troubles along the path this day, except for the usual struggle against the wilderness encroaching on the old road.
After a few more hours' rough travel, the forest finally begins to part, and the treetops give way to the sharpened points of the log palisade surrounding the fort. The road splits, allowing traffic from both directions to choose either to continue along their way or enter the clearing surrounding the outpost. And from the ruts worn in the paths approaching the fort's front gate from each direction, it's clear most travelers choose the latter.
The high walls prevent viewers outside from seeing much of the outpost's interior, but the curls of smoke still rise into the azure sky. The wagon's inhabitants begin to chatter excitedly as the group pulls forward toward the heavy gates.
I gotta get over to the Bones once we get settled, see if Orrend's managed to get that rose petal ale right, one of the laborers calls to his companion as they drive their one-horse cart along. Sure, his companion replies. Let's see if he's managed t'make rose petal ale and not rose petal vinegar this time! With a laugh, the two pull their horse to a stop in front of the gate.
A woman sits on the edge of a wagon, clearly very pregnant and massaging a foot with what appears to be a blister on the heel. I hope Bellar's gotten his hands on some dreamer's star - I've been tossing and turning for days, with Zella apparently set on being a boxer from her very first day, she mumbles to the man standing beside her. He laughs and offers a hand to help her stand, and they begin unloading the wagon's contents.
One of the caravan's guides tests the blade of his long hunting knife. Gotta see if Partik c'n git me a new one - that kobold's acid flask 'bout did this one in, seems like. Indeed, the knife is pitted all down its length, and the man's arm sports several spots as well, though the neatly carved bone figurines and silver cups he's proudly displayed at camp the last couple of days suggest he met with some success in the encounter.
All in all, it seems everyone is excited to rest for a few days after the struggles of the road. As the caravan approaches, a voice calls out from one of the stone towers supporting the palisade. Who goes there? State your name and business at Fort Thorn, outpost of the Eternal Crown of Korvosa! A glint appears at the top of the tower, and you can just make out a longbow, arrow nocked at the string, in the shadow of the tower's roof.
Suddenly, though, the guard's call is interrupted by a voice from a small wooden building next to the gates. Aww, shucks. Ain't ya seen it's the supply train, Meran? We only been waitin' on 'em three days! A rumpled, slouching man emerges from the small gatehouse, throwing a hand up in a sloppy salute. Welcome t'the fort, misses and misters. Ain't bringin' no troublemakers in, are ya? He begins to look over the carts and wagons, but from his glances back toward the gatehouse, where his partner waves a handful of playing cards, it's clear he's going through the motions - and poorly at that.