As the party marches along, following the trail, but apparently falling further and further behind their prey's pace, Siulor grows increasingly frustrated. Hrmn... This is why we hunt alone, he thinks as he waits for the dwarves to catch up. Despite his frustrations, however, Siulor is sure that Torg and Pick will easily make up for their lack of speed with their exceptional skills. He knows how clever Pick can be at times, and Torg seems to be a very capable dwarf as well. Donnen had earned his respect as a fellow hunter and guide long ago, and even this Black Midknight seems like she must have some tricks up her sleeves, especially with how secretive she is in general. Probably the only concern that he still has is for Renato, whose lack of proper winter gear seemed like a bad sign. His surprising ability to carry gear offered significant reassurance, however, and Siulor is interested to see what other surprises his old friend Jean might have picked up in the long years they spent apart.
As the party approaches the hills, Siulor narrows his focus on the trail. It is just in areas like this where the quarry might strike out on an unexpected path, and the group could not afford to lose the trail at this point, not when they are already so far behind.
Donnen marches with the group, doing his best to work with Siulor on the survival and tracking. He wasn't shapeshifted - it wouldn't make any sense not knowing how long the travel could take. He was, however, prepared to wild shape again once they felt they were approaching the other group, and made sure to inform his group to avoid anyone getting alarmed (or uncomfortable) with his shifted appearance.
The druid felt very well in the wild marching. For times people could see him touching the plants and breathing deeply, as if feeling he was part of the environment itself. Even the cold didn't seem to bother him much at all; there was something cold about him, but that anyone would hardly be able to pinpoint without knowing his story. He was ready to help anyone endure elements if needed, but otherwise he'd save his divine abilities to a more necessary moment.
Torg is happy to leave Azurestone at last, even though his business would require him to return after the capture of the Key's thief. For now, though, the dwarf concentrates on their journey. Despite his fitness, he is slower than the humans of the group and it wouldn't to slow them any more. I wish I had bought a horse before setting out of Highhelm. It's a shame to be slowing down everyone else...
As the landscape starts to become more hilly, Torg's mood lifts, despite the thief's increasing lead. Flat land might be safer for travellers, but the scree and short bushes remind the dwarf of his mountain home.
Pick huffs along. The first hour is relatively pleasant, despite the chill in the air, but after that he starts feeling grumpy as he remembers many of the reasons he hated the 'adventuring life' and how much he prefers sitting inside his warm, comfortable home and not hiking for bloody miles and miles...
He's also less than enthused about their slow pace, but at least there's another dwarf in the group. For selfish reasons, he's grateful for Torg's presence-- it means he's not the only one slowing things up.
Pick groans as they start climbing into the foothills, muttering under his breath about how his trail probably would have been easier to follow...
The 'old' dwarf's sharp eyes are shrewd all the same. Without slowing his pace-- he has no desire to give a clue to their watchers-- he says in a low voice, "Two critters of the two-legged sort up on that north hill, my friends. Just ducked behind those bushes. Not full-sized. Couldn't see what they were, but they're there, alright, and aiming not to be seen. Should we circle this hillock and go up to flush 'em out?"
Torg curses his lack of attention under his beard. If Pick has seen something, there are no reasons he couldn't have. He tries to discretely scan the hilltop the older dwarf mentioned, but the creatures are nowhere to be seen.
Matching Pick's volume, he answers. "Hopefully, they're friendly. We could ask if they saw this damned thief pass through. I'm afraid that my armour ain't suited to sneakin' up close, though." Indeed, as they walk, it makes occasional squeaks and screeches as its metal bands touch grind against each other. "I don't mind circlin' around, but I'll have to stay in the back if we don't want to be detected. Or, ya sneaky types could circle round quietly while us noisy ones walk up directly to that hilltop tryin' to draw their attention..."
Donnen looks uphill and doesn't seem much either, but smiles to the well trained eyes of the dwarf.
I think we should circle it and try to surprise them. At least, the ones of us who can better hide around. I agree with Pick and Torg's plan. - he says in low volume.
Hearing Pick's warning about the hidden figures on the hill, Siulor looks up from the trail to gaze back at the dwarf. Without a word, he signals to Huan with a short whistle, and the pair break off into the scree along the road, following Black Midknight and Silver Starlight.
As the hunter and his companion enter the wilderness along with their mysterious allies, they seem to disappear to all but the most keen-eyed observers.
Pick nods sharply as people begin to split for the surround. He stays with the non-stealth group, fiddling with his pipe which he rather wishes he could light, but he'll need his hands free, no doubt. Smoking and battle don't mix well.
After some time to let the sneaky folk get into position, Pick jerks his head at the hill. "Well, my noisy friends, shall we?"
The hunter and the masked woman, canine and feline companions in tow, make their way quietly around the back of the hill, looking to catch the watchers from behind. The dwarves, along with the writer and the treesinger, take the more direct route, tromping up the hill to face them more directly. The pair of mystery figures sit almost motionless as Torg and Pick lead the way up the hill, ducking down behind the bush as they begin to climb the scree.
Suddenly, Pick and Donnen let out a hiss of warning, and from behind, Huan's sharp bark is echoed by Siulor's whisper to Black Midknight. They've noticed the two gnomes - for gnomes they are - jolting into action, stomping hard on something: a wide piece of board nestled carefully underneath the loose material on the hillside. As they step furiously, one even beginning to jump on the board's edge, tiny stones begin to roll, and rivulets of loose sand begin to snake their way down the hill's slope.
"Scatter!" Pick barks gruffly. "They've rigged the damned hill to come down-- it's going to be worst directly between the two hills! Scramble after me!"
He moves as spry as he can, darting twenty feet around the hill in hopes of stepping out of the zone of the falling earth.
Donnen hears the warnings - of both the land and the dwarf - and then moves, as fast as he can, forward like Pick.
Siulor advances up the hill, moving as quickly as possible and drawing a javelin as he clambers forward. Huan moves along beside him, ending up just in front of the hunter. As Siulor holds his javelin ready, he calls to the gnomes, You will stop this now, or I will pin you to a boulder and roll you down this hill myself! Huan echoes his master's sentiment with a series of loud, vicious barks, baring his long, gleaming fangs all the while.
The gnomes don't look terribly surprised at Siulor's call - though they start slightly at the loud noise, it seems they expected movement behind. With one final heave, one of the gnomes, a green-haired woman, gives one final shove to the lever - and just as Pick had feared, half the hillside begins to come down onto the path. For their part, once the trap is sprung, the gnomes take off along the hillside away from the now-useless lever...and you hear a rustling sound falling away to the north.
Siulor hears the rockslide beginning on the other side of the hill and cries out in anger. [b]Right then, looks like the rolling stone will be gathering up two gnomes today! He and Huan charge around the hill toward the bushes where the gnomes hid themselves. Once he has the bushes in sight, he lobs a javelin toward them, hoping to flush the gnomes out even if the javelin does not find its mark.
Torg sees the two gnomes too late and, by the time he is warned by Pick, it is already too late for him to escape the massive avalanche triggered by the spiteful creatures. Realizing that he does not have time to move entirely out of its path but that he is out of the way of the worst of it, the brave dwarf starts running up the hill. As he does, he mutters a brief prayer. "Stone Father, let not thy servant be harmed today."
Whether by his god's intervention or through sheer luck, the dwarf somehow manages to jump on top of the first stone slate to reach him and to keep running up on top of the falling debris, precariously balancing himself with his arms, until the ground is still once more.
Renato lets out a panicked yelp, racing directly away from the landslide towards the most apparent escape route. He just barely manages to get out of the way of the worst of the avalanche, ending up stumbling backwards along the road. The writer trips over a rock and rolls rest of the way down, using his arms to shield his body from smaller pebbles. When the dust settles, he is nowhere to be seen.
Pick huffs upwards to the top of the hill, heavily using his walking cane to help him hike.
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Black Midknight hears the sound of combat and realizes it is time to make her entrance. She throws up a quick shield of magic and then moves up to help encircle her foes.
She holds her starknife so that the front two blades each point at one of the enemies. She keeps her tone low and threatening, but she speaks loud and clear.
"Your Midknight has come, villains. Surrender now before my Dark Powers of Void consume you."
With the worst of the slide over and the ground still, everyone, through skill or good fortune, has managed to escape major harm. Torg and Renato catch their breath after the shock of the slide passes, while Pick and Donnen struggle upwards. Siulor and Black Midknight press close to the gnomes, with Huan and Silver Starlight close to their masters.
And the gnomes give each other a slight nod - and reach for small sacks tied to their bandoliers, tiny dark bits of tar and resin seeping through the loose weave. With a deft flick, they toss their projectiles, one at Siulor and one at Black Midknight...but both miss their targets, hitting the ground and releasing small, sticky puddles that quickly dissipate into the loose scree. Eyes wide, the gnomes scramble backwards in different directions; as they retreat, Siulor notices that the female gnome bears a deep cut on her shoulder, likely from his javelin toss.
Siulor smiles broadly as the gnomes emerge from the bush, and his elation only increases when he notices the wound on the gnome's shoulder. Got lucky with that one! Looks like today might be my day.
Now back to business, he barks out a quick Strike! to Huan, and the two move in unison toward the wounded gnome. As Siulor passes Black Midknight, he calls out, We've got the lass. The two of you get after the lad.
As the pair charge across the hill, Huan takes a direct path towards his target, while Siulor takes a slightly more arcing route. As he moves, he straps on his shield and draws out his spear, the dark wood of both shield and spear almost showing a reddish hue like long-dried blood.
Donnen moves and throws a flurry of snowballs, targeting both enemies.
Flurry of Snowballs (Memorized) 1/2
Shielded from sight by his spell, Renato gets up and starts clambering up the other side of the pass. He keeps glancing back to the others, trying to see the enemy.
Thankful to have weathered the landslide without harm, Torg looks ahead towards the summit. He can only see Pick and the upper half of the elf guide, but from what he can hear the four of them are managing the gnomes just fine on their own.
More worryingly, Renato seems to have disappeared beneath the debris. Reversing his stride, Torg doubles down towards the path between the two mounds. On the way, he starts calling for the missing writer. If no response if forthcoming, he'll start poking around the fresh scree with a tent pole.
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Black Midknight confirms Siulor's strategy with a nod, then turns her focus to her designated enemy.
"You cannot escape the darkness." Black Midknight maintains her dark, threatening tone, but she manages to let a hint of exhasperation color her words.
She charges herself with black arcane energy and charges forward through the two enemies, trying to make sure she blocks the "lad" from escaping.
Pick his way up to the top of the hill, toiling the rocky incline, then a few feet down the other side. "I-- am-- too old-- for this--"
Donnen lets loose a burst of ice and snow; the male gnome manages to dodge the worst of the blast, but the female gnome takes the full brunt of the conjured storm, and she collapses in a heap. The male gnome fares little better; already battered from Donnen's spell, Black Midknight's knife wound is too much to push through, and he falls to the ground as well. Both now lie on the stony hillside, pitiable figures with their wounds still bleeding.
Renato pops back into existence right next to Torg, and starts dusting off his new winter clothes.
"There is no need to yell," he mutters miserably. "And please, stop calling me master."
Torg is startled by Renato's sudden reappearance but he's quick to make the connection with the man's earlier statement. So that's what he meant by 'other skills'.
"Sorry if I offended ya. With this revolution of yars, it's probably not wise to go around callin' someone 'Master', either. Where I come from, it's how we call elders who've taken a scholarly profession. Old habits die hard, 'cause ya're many springs younger than I am..." Looking towards the northern slope of the hill where the others have fought the gnomes, he adds. "I guess we'd better join the others. Hopefully the gnomes ain't too dead to be interrogated about the thief..."
Resolutely, he starts climbing again.
Siulor takes a shocked step back as a barrage of snowballs pummels the senses out of the small body of the gnome woman standing in front of him. As the magical attack subsides, he holds his hand out to Huan, and the dog immediately heels, waiting attentively for the next command from his master.
Recognizing that she might have had some information about the thief if the gnomes had been willing to spring such a dangerous traps on their group. He kneels down and checks for a pulse.
Though both gnomes are unmoving, a quick check from Siulor confirms that both yet live - in fact, the female, despite having the more severe injuries of the two, seems to be through the worst of the danger, and her wounds have stopped bleeding. The male has had no such good fortune, however; the cut from Black Midknight's starknife is still gaping, and blood seeps through his jacket, creating an ugly red stain.
Pick gives the two gnomes that caused so much trouble a less-than-kind look, now that he's finally toiled up the hillside to reach them. He nudges the bleeding male with his walking cane. "Hmn. That's really too bad, isn't it," he says, and doesn't sound remorseful.
"Probably shouldn't have tried to kill us with a rockslide, you crazy little wretches."
Showing no signs of producing the healing wand just yet, Pick crouches and begins to rifle through gnomish pockets and possessions, seemingly uncaring of the gnome man's blood getting onto his hands in the process.
After climbing the mound a second time, Torg re-joins with the rest of the group. As he had estimated, they had handled the gnomes just fine without his help and the creatures are now laying on the stone ground. Siulor and Pick are both crouched near the bodies, though their purpose are very different. Noticing that the hunter is evaluating the seriousness of the gnomes' wounds, Torg inquires about it and, after Siulor's response, he flicks his right hand towards the sky while muttering an indistinguishable phrase. The male gnome's wounds quickly stop bleeding, though they remain open. "It wouldn't do to have one of them die while we question the other. Bad for morale..."
Then, the young dwarf turns away from the creature and slowly removes his backpack, resting it against a stone on the ground. After undoing its two leather latches, he searches it until he finds what he is looking for: a rope. Purposefully, he heads towards the wounded but stable gnome female, and starts tying up her hands and her feet to ensure that she does not run away. Once he is satisfied with his handiwork, he turns his face towards his comrades. "Let's get the show started, shall we. Hopefully, they've seen our thief come through here." Placing a hand on the female's forehead, he prays briefly then starts slapping her until she wakes up.
Still giving no resistance to or notice of Pick's search, after several more moments the male gnome looks to have come out of the woods as well in terms of danger to life and limb. His wounds are serious, though, and he's unlikely to regain consciousness on his own for a while. At Torg's prayer over the female gnome, a brief flash of light courses over her skin and coalesces into a pattern of hammers before sinking into her battered form; she begins to stir slightly, and at Torg's strike her eyes flash open. Instinctively she begins to struggle against the bonds - until the size of the group surrounding her begins to sink in.
C'mon, guys - lemme out! It's not my fault - she begins to protest, her voice a treble squeak. We won't be any more trouble, just let us be - She twists her head to the side and sees her fallen comrade, and her already huge eyes grow even wider. Dwale? Dwale? The look etched into her strange features when she turns back is a mix of shock and sadness. You k-killed him, didn't you? I - I won't be no more bother, I swear. Just let me go, help me bury him if you've frozen him to death...p-please.
Not your fault, eh? Siulor says, still stooping beside the gnome girl. Ah! It must've been someone else who sent half the hill rolling down t'ward my friends. Oh and perhaps I had lapsed int' speaking gibberish when I warned you t' stop! Siulor takes a moment to breathe before continuing in a calmer tone. Your friend'll survive. His wounds are grave, but he seems t' be breathin' regularly, I assume due t' the help of my comrade here who also brought also gave you back your consciousness by the way. Now. Do explain why you attacked us. He sits down by the girl's side, sitting cross-legged. His shield back on his back, but his spear laying just behind him, in case she gets uppity.
C'mon, guys - lemme out! It's not my fault - she begins to protest, her voice a treble squeak. We won't be any more trouble, just let us be - She twists her head to the side and sees her fallen comrade, and her already huge eyes grow even wider. Dwale? Dwale? The look etched into her strange features when she turns back is a mix of shock and sadness. You k-killed him, didn't you? I - I won't be no more bother, I swear. Just let me go, help me bury him if you've frozen him to death...p-please.
Renato climbs up after Torg, looking curiously at their diminutive captives. As the woman is tied up and brought back to consciousness, he sits next to her with a sad smile.
"There is no need to be afraid," he says reassuringly. "Your friend is still very much alive, as my comrade suggested. I would be elated to have him healed, and see the two of you reunited in life. However, you will have to understand that we value our lives and the lives of our companions just as much as you value yours and Dwale's. If you are willing to give us information, I can certainly promise that you will be spared, brought back to health, and treated as humanely as anyone will ever be in this land of injustice. You have my word on that. Your freedom I cannot promise you, but—"
The writer winks conspiratorially before switching languages mid-sentence.
"—..."
Squirming slightly in her bonds, the woman's eyes drop. It was just a job, she mutters in a low tone at Siulor's question. Wasn't anything personal. We were just told to keep watch for anyone coming along the path, 'specially if they looked like they were tracking along the road. If we saw someone, we were supposed to slow them up - Cale said just to slow them up. And that's all we did, wasn't it? Triggered the fall with no one in the worst of it, didn't throw knives or anything...getting half-buried's not gonna hurt anyone...
When Renato switches to the short, clipped syllables and complicated diphthongs of Gnomish, the woman lets out a tiny gasp. හා කුඩාම තුලින් රිංගා කිරීම සඳහා එය පහසුම, එහෙම නේද? ඔබ ඇත්තටම .... ඔබ මෙතන රතු කාක සොයන කළ හැකි නම්, එහෙම නේද?
Renato nods affirmingly at the gnome, responding in her native tongue for further reassurement.
". ? ? ... ? ?"
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Black Midknight stands tall over the captives accentuating their height difference. She keeps herself turned enough away from them that she can still obscure her masked face in shadow.
"Is this Cale a crony of the Red Raven? What does he or she look like?"
She brandishes her starknife.
"Reveal your secrets, lest my dark power so fthe void take hold once more."
Renato raises his hand in a placating gesture, and moves in between Black Midknight and the captives.
"Please," he says gently to the vigilante. "There is no need for threats. I think she is scared enough as it is..."
Though Torg does not understand what Renato is saying in Gnomish, he is smart enough to recognize a successfully use of empathy when he sees one. Judging that he couldn't add anything to the questioning, the young dwarf decides to stay silent. Stepping back a few paces, he starts to brush his clothes with his hand to remove the dust they gathered during the landslide, keeping track of the conversation at the same time.
මට සමාවෙන්න, මට වැඩි යමක් දන්නේ නෑ ... the woman begins, before Black Midknight's starknife flashes before her. Hey! Watch what you're doing with that thing! she replies with a glare, looking at Renato and switching back to the Taldane tongue. Cale is our boss, I guess you could say, least for now. He's the one who hired us - said his friend would be passing through, and we were supposed to slow up anyone who looked as if they could be following him. Said his Savored Sting would look on us with favor...but he found cash a little better motivation than some elf-god's favor for Rhis Callig. She punctuates the joke with a wink.
Anyway, we get up here, start working out that slide trigger - and who should come through but the Red Raven himself, cloak and all? "Dwale," I said, "I'd bet half my take from this that he's the friend Cale was talkin' about..." Sure looked like he was in enough of a hurry - rushin' like he stole something, and from the bundle under his arm I'd guess he did. Again she winks, her wide lavender eyes somewhat unsettling, before dropping again to a more serious tone. He was the only one we saw before you folks. That's all I know, I swear. It was just a job - we didn't mean to hurt anyone if it could be helped, not bad anyway. Please...we won't be any more trouble, if you just let us go.
Renato nods along with Rhis' story, looking to the others for any further questions.
"So you are not aware of Cale's current whereabouts?" he asks. "Or of the Red Raven's intended destination? I have to wonder if the two happen to coincide..."
Though he was occupied with his clothes, Torg had followed the entire conversation with great attention, carefully analysing the voice tones and the (limited) body language of the gnome as she tried to explain herself. Renato's empathetic approach has seemingly worked wonders. Some questions, however, remained unanswered.
"Coincide indeed. I'm wondering whether this Cale and the Red Raven are one and the same. Or it could be the man that took part in the diversion." The dwarf needs more information to piece together the pieces of this puzzle and he is grateful that Renato has soothed Rhis and made her cooperative. Now, it is his turn to ask questions. He crouches in front of the tied-up gnome and looks at her directly in the eyes.
"I, too, have questions for ya. First, what can ya tell us about Cale? Is he an elf? What does he look like? Second, I am curious about yar relationship with him. When and where did he hire ya? Did ya already know each other?" He is speaking slowly and clearly, to make sure that the female understand him well, but he hasn't paused until now. "Finally, how long ago did this Red Raven pass through here?"
"Once ya've answered those questions, and any my companions might have, we'll see about patchin' up yar friend Dwale and sendin' ya on yar way." Torg turns towards the rest of his group. "If that's alright with ya'll, of course." Before continuing, Torg grabs his axe with his right hand and carefully slides his left index finger along its sharp edge in plain view of Rhis. "But be certain that if we ever see ya up to mischief again, we won't be as merciful."
Satisfied with the direction of questioning begun by Renato and Torg, Siulor nods in silent assent, stands, gathers up his spear, and walks back toward the bush where the gnomes had hidden previously, hoping to retrieve his javelin if possible. As he walks away, he whistles a single, sharp note, and Huan stands and follows after his master.
Once he retrieves his javelin , he makes his way over to Pick and Black Midknight, leading them aside if they choose to follow. He begins speaking with the two of them in a low voice while the questioning continues. Seems like Renato and Torg will be able t' get the information we need, but I'm not sure if that'll be enough to help us. The plan t' slow us up has worked. What's worse, that rockslide probably destroyed the Raven's trail through the pass. We'll have a hard time figuring which set of prints might be the Raven's among all those that have travelled through here. With any luck, the gnomes will know where this Cale figure was headed. If we find him, maybe he'll know where the Raven is hiding out. Either way, I've a feeling this hunt will be a long one.
Sense Motive: The gnome seems to be telling the truth - it seems Renato's kindness has won her over, as has his willingness to converse in the Gnomish tongue.
Knowledge (religion): You can recall that the Savored Sting is a name for one of the major goddesses of the elves, Calistria - but you can't recall much else about her. Elf gods have not precisely been your area of study.
Cale? He's an elf - decent sort, though, not as snooty as a lot of the rest. Suddenly she looks over at Donnen apologetically, with a glance at his long ears. Sorry. You gotta give me that much, though. But Cale's a good enough guy, and tops for working out the best jobs. He's just got...I don't know, a way about him. Convincing, you know? But that bird of his creeps me out...it talks! I mean, I can talk to animals for a bit if I want...but it's me starting the talking...
Sorry, off track, she grins sheepishly. I'd worked with Cale a few times before - like I said, he gets the best jobs to hand out. He'd gotten a few others for this job, too - I don't know exactly what it was they were doing, but I'd bet it was setting up distractions, same as us. They dropped us off here last night, and the Raven came through early this morning, before it'd even really gotten light. I'd say...nine, maybe ten hours ago? If that was the friend Cale was talking about (and I'd bet it is), I'm guessing the others were doing same as us, watching for him to go by and getting ready to slow up anyone who came after.
Listen...I don't know if I ought to... She glances around furtively, seeming to try and steel herself to something. Cale gave us directions, she finally begins again, to a rendezvous point. He said to head there when we were finished here...it's into the Boarwood some way, north of the main road. If...if you want, I could take you there. If you promise to hear him out - look, I don't think Cale's even taking a cut on this one! There's gotta be a good reason for all this, if Cale's doing it on the house...