As Kressle went down, Daen got a bit excited. With their leader dying, perhaps the rest would flee. But that wasn't to be the case when the scorched bandit didn't bat an eye to the death of his superior and came at Maraia with his weapon. A little unprepared, he nonetheless acted appropriately, flanking with Maraia and delivering a cut on the ruthless foe.
The bandit laughing at Ankova's wound causes Laliytsa to scowl. She moves to get a clearer shot, aims, and fires at the man.
Daen's cut, though lacking the power of a lot of his others, distracts the bandit long enough for Maraia to draw her short sword and put its tip into his back. He shudders, letting out a drawn-out sigh, and slides off her blade.
Ankova's stroke cuts deep into the bandit's neck, dropping him. Laliytsa's arrow drives into its target's off-arm, only to be broken off as the man lunges forward. He plants his sword only a few inches above her previous wound, pulling his blade quickly out. Ankova falls to the ground, bleeding.
Seeing his friend's success, the last remaining bandit in the camp moves and looses an arrow at Laliytsa. His arrow flies true, catching Laliytsa dead in the center of the chest, just inches from her heart.
The bandit in the watchtower, unable to get a clear shot from his post, begins to make his way down the ladder.
Daen hears combat still raging off to the east and makes his way through and around the brush to engage the enemy. Seeing Ankova down, he rushes up on the bandit that felled her, scowling with contempt. "This blade that cut down Kressle will cut you down too." He said brandishing the bloodied blade.
Laliytsa stumbles nearly falling to her knees. The pain from the arrow is unlike anything she's experienced before. There's a small detached part of herself that feels a wave of sympathy for the animals she's shot. She's pretty sure she's going into shock. With shaking arms she draws her bow and shoots at the same bandit that shot her.
Laliytsa's arrow takes the bandit as he's reaching back for another arrow, and Maraia follows Daen and unleashes a burst of positive energy.
The healing wave hits Laliytsa and Ankova, patching their wounds, but it also washes across Kressle. She climbs shakily to her feet, hefting her axes and moving toward Maraia.
The yellow bandit, hearing Daen rush toward him, turns and swings wildly, parting the air with a savage hissing sound, but Daen's face is inches from the tip of the bandit's blade. The last bandit, finishing his climb down the ladder, rushes around the trees into the camp proper and grabs an arrow, but doesn't have time to shoot.
Not noticing Kressle getting up behind him, the swordsman moved to flank with the prone Ankova and to give her attacker at least a distraction as she started to rouse herself. "You cannot defeat us. Flee or die in obscurity."
Maraia's power washes over Laliytsa, causing the arrow in her chest to pop out as it heals her wound. Movement at the corner of her eye catches her attention. She barks "Behind you Maraia!" before shooting at Kressle
Ankova's memory is a little bit hazy at the moment, but she remembers being stabbed a second time, and then falling. She hurts far too much to be dead just yet though, and her trembling fingers find the little vial in her bandoleer and bring it to her lips, remembering only after she feels cork against her lips to remove the stopper before swallowing down the contents. Only then does she consider going for her sword, only to realize that it's fallen far enough away that the man might stab her again if she reached for it, so instead she draws out her dagger, the cold iron meant as a ward against evil fey, but still perfectly suitable for dispatching a lawbreaker.
Laliytsa finally misses a shot, the arrow hissing off into the woods to thud, quivering, into a tree trunk. Maraia whirls and launches a desperate thrust at Kressle, but it fails to find its mark. She steps away from Kressle, trying desperately to not leave any openings.
Kressle takes stock of the situation, examining her own wounds and those of her enemies, as well as the corpses of her men littering the campsite. After a moment's hesitation, she turns and staggers toward the river. What she arrives, she turns to shout. "You bastards! I hope Dovan comes back and hunts you all down like the vermin you are. We had a damn good thing going here! My lord will come here, and you'll regret taking arms against him, you hear me!?"
The yellow bandit, hearing his boss trying to leave the fight, throws down his sword and throws his hands in the air. "Mercy, please! Mercy!" The teal one, less concerned, casually takes his arrow from the string, walks to a nearby log. He sits and begins to unstring his bow.
Seeing the bandit before him throw down his weapon, Daen turned his attention on Kressle yet again. He moved under the tree and slightly through the underbrush until he could see her accursed face. "Proud words of the defeated! Your death will serve as an example to others."
His bow lay in the brush some yards off, but the swordsman had a few more tricks up his sleeve in such situations. The blue tinge of his eldritch sword turned green as he made arcane symbols with his free hand. He swung his sword in her direction and a the energy flew from the blade as it resumed it's bluish tint.
Daen's acid moves through the tree branches and pine needles, whipping into Kressle's face as she prepares to shout a retort. She screams and collapses into the sand near the river.
With the battle over, there's a chance to inspect the camp more closely. A half-dozen canvas tents, in various states of disrepair and decay, sit near the trees on the eastern edge of the camp, while the smoldering remains of a fire shoots up wisps of smoke in the center. A few logs around it form a place to sit, and several narrow tracks lead from the camp to the north, southeast, and south. A number of large trees have been felled to create makeshift walls, but it's fairly obvious that the bandits here didn't expect a serious attack. A few clouds drift over the camp as it settles into a tense quiet, and a single songbird starts singing somewhere in the woods to the north.
The bandit with the bow finishes unstringing it. "Been too good a bow to not treat it right, y'know?" He sets it aside and draws his sword, which he throws in the mud a few feet away from him. The other bandit lowers a hand to gingerly feel his wounds, coming away with a handful of blood. He begins shaking in shock. There's no sign of the bandit who fled to the south, or of the two on horseback.
Laliytsa calls to Daen. "She dead? I've got rope for tyin' her up if she's alive" The ranger slings her bow over her shoulder and starts picking her way through the camp. While she pokes around the camp she picks up the weapons belonging to the new prisoners. Best to remove anything that could be used against her group. She looks for anything useful scattered around the camp.
"She might die if she doesn't receive attention. It wasn't that strong of a spell." He called back as he left her to die and came toward the ranger. "It's up to you if you want to take her back and hang her or put her head on a pike or something. She's obviously unrepentant.
The half elf wordlessly searches along with Laliytsa leaving the prisoners to the other two. If Daen knew one thing, it was that he wasn't really good with people. Maraia was amazing and Ankova had him beat. If anyone could get information out of who was left, it was those two.
Ankova's expression is nigh murderous, and it's evident to anyone looking at her that she's having to restrain herself from simply executing the man in front of her even as he drops his weapon and begs surrender. She doesn't sheathe her sword, simply lowering it as she points toward the brigands' dying leader with her free hand, "Is there any reason we should save her life? I'm hesitant even to spare yours, when you refused my offer of clemency so many times, that I suspect you're just a coward rather than the least bit repentant, but you're not bleeding to death, and I don't feel like grave-digging, so you'll get your chance to prove yourself, but what about her, hmm?"
In truth, Ankova cares more about how the bandit responds than the actual answer, and intends to commit Kressle to the grave regardless, but she's not about to say so until she has some idea of the character of these thuggish ruffians. Looking over to the other still-living bandit who hadn't fled, she calls out, "You too! Any reason we should spare your leader? Or just the two of you?"
Laliytsa and Daen's search of the camp reveals a few small sacks of assorted coins. Laliytsa finds several crates filled with fox-furs under one of the watchtowers, while Daen searches the back of the wagon near the river. There, underneath a tanned deerskin stretched across its frame, he finds a well-built wooden case with a label branded into it, as well as a date. "Whiterose Chartreuse", the label reads, and under it, "Whiterose 1684". Atop the crate is a set and ready bear-trap, which Daen manages to spot before trying to move anything, and next to it is a large sack that seems filled with metal. Food and drink is stored throughout the camp as well.
At Ankova's threat, the bandit who'd been dueling with her panics. "Please! Kill her, kill Teodor, I don't care. Just let me live! These bastards all treated me like dirt, never respected me. Always hated them, especially the boss-b$%@~." He spits in the direction of his fallen friend, the purple bandit, who he'd just been helping to Flank Ankova not a minute earlier.
Though his words have a hint of panic to them, his eyes seem to be calculating his risk, and he keeps glancing toward the treeline. His hands keep twitching, and he shoots an occasional glare at Ankova when he thinks he's not looking.
The other bandit looks at his comrade scornfully, stroking a greying beard and digging through his pockets. After a moment he pulls out a pipe and a tindertwig. Puffing away, he looks toward Ankova, and then back at his friend. "Dragos," he calls from across the camp. "Dragos, this is an opportunity to do better with your life, if she'll have you. I intend to take it." He eyes Ankova professionally. "I apologize for him. He's an idiot and a hot-head, even Kressle had a hard time with him. Name's Teodor Ionesco, out of Mivon. I don't have much to trade for my life, and your friends seem to be taking it regardless, but I might know something about Kressle and her lord. Trade you the information for a second chance?" He holds out a hand stained with tobacco and weathered by too many years outside.
After a brief sweep through the camp Laliytsa heads back to where they tied up the horses. She grabs her rope out of the saddlebags, pats Wild on the nose and strolls back towards Ankova. Once there she remarks to the investigator "Don't think Kressle'll reform, but we might get some information outta her."
Laliytsa turns to bandit called Dragos. Her face is expressionless but her eyes are hard as she stares at him. After a minute she snorts in contempt. "Mmhmm. I'm tyin' you up. Try anythin' funny and I'll put an arrow through ya before ya hit the trees. Hands behind your back." She moves in with the rope
"You b!$#!. As bad as Kressle, you are. The times she tied me in my tent. I'll make you pay for this, see if I don't. You'll all bleed, you hear!" With his escape plan foiled, Dragos becomes more belligerent, swearing and moving his hands away from Laliytsa until she wrestles them behind his back and forces him into a sitting position. He spits a long trail of spittle onto her armor, grinning a vicious grin.
Daen continues to collect the loot from around the camp, including stripping the dead. He really didn't mind doing it. It also helped him feel useful. The real trick was how they were going to bring all this back with them to Oleg's place. He tested the wagon to see if it could be used, and tested the weight of things to make sure there was not too much for the horses to handle.
From what it sounded, they were having a little trouble with one of the prisoners. If they needed his help, they'd probably ask, but it was most likely they knew better than he did on what to do. Being that was the case, perhaps he should listen a bit closer to see how they handle things.
Gathering everything, and making sure it was quantified and labeled, at least in his own mind, he came back to the place where the enemy had laid down their arms. "The goods are ready for transport. Are we ready to start heading back?"
Kressle's corpse includes a pair of beautifully crafted handaxes (masterwork), some beaten-up studded leather, four daggers shoved haphazardly into her belt, a small sack crammed full of gold coins bearing a dragon on one side and a stylized "B" on the other, and and a silver amulet in the shape of a stag, with a circle of greenish glass held by its antlers. The coins seem to total near sixty.
The other corpses each carry a shortsword (in various states of repair), a long or shotbow with 10 arrows each (though the one recovered from the man who fell off the guardtower is shattered, and an assortment of coins totaling around eighty.
Laliytsa blinks in surprise as the spit runs down her armor. After taking a moment to process it she snorts. "Ain't the smartest one around are ya? Tied up captive, life's on the line, gotta convince us you'll reform but ya run your mouth with threats an' spit on me? Ought to let my friend over there ram her sword down your gullet." Quick as a snake her arm shoots out and she grabs the bandit by his hair. She rubs his face into the spit on her armor before pushing him backwards. "Clean enough. Your call on what we do with him An." With a parting glare at Dragos she heads over to Daen.
"Hey Daen" she calls out. "Some of this we should leave for the fae." Climbing into the wagon she starts going through the goods, picking out items and setting them aside. "Couple of coins is good. We could throw in Kressle's amulet, some of this food, any drinks alcoholic? Oh good, we gotta lot of arrows now." She hums as she sorts.
This group has been hurting for a meat-shield. I mean, Ankova's 19 AC back there was impressive until she got hit, but...
Dragos falls to the ground as Laliytsa shoves him, his nose bleeding and a cheek cut from his encounter with her armor's studs. He wriggles onto his back, glaring at his former comrade. "And what'll you do, Teodor, when Staggy comes down here and butchers these four in their sleep? Beg his forgiveness? He has none. He'll break your legs and have you thrown from the wall, like those two Kressle handled. I'll take my chances with these whelps, they don't look hard enough to murder a man in cold blood, and if they do, it'll at least be quick." He rolls onto his side, shooting Ankova a wink. "How'd you like to untie me? I assure you, you wouldn't regret it. Least, not for long, half-breed b@!&#."
The other man rolls his eyes. "You'll be wanting to kill Dragos, I'd say. He's an angry bastard, and he holds a grudge better'n most of the men held their blades."
”Well, there it is. Oleg’s Trading Post. He’s supposed to be a follower of Ol’ Deadeye, and I hear he has a beautiful young wife. With any luck, we’ll feel at home.” Jhod Kavken’s gaze shifts from the palisade walls of the trading post to the dark line of the Narlmarches to the southwest. He’s been eyeing the treeline ever since it came into view, sneaking glimpses of the place his redemption must surely be. His mule brays loudly and a grouse explodes from the knee-high, winter-browned grass that seems to be choking the South Rostland Road. His assistant and acolyte, a blonde-haired blue-eyed lad by the name of Hanne Lorris, fidgets uncomfortably atop his own mule. The boy hasn’t said more than ten words at a time since leaving your village three days past.
As the walls grow taller and more defined, certain details become clearer. A banner flies over the southeast watchtower, the red dragon of Brevoy against quartered yellow and white. Four canvas tents sit huddled against the wall, just to the left of the open gates, where two figures are working. Two others stand just outside the gates, one with a bare, barrel-shaped chest, the other clad in a ragged wool shirt and with a brown and black beard. As you draw closer, snatches of their argument can be heard on the light breeze. ”No, I said we needed….and then set it down on the….” and ”Well, I think we ought to...and then build the guides for the…” Another figure, clad in ringmail, leathers, and a grey tabard, spots your approach from the her station near the flag and lets loose a *pbbbbblat!* from a horn. As the echoes of the horn’s call fade, she shouts a high-pitched ”State your names and business, in the name of the Dragonscale Throne!”
Despite his love of riding, the sight of the palisade and the promise of rest it brings lift Kazimir's spirits. Jhod was likeable enough, and Hanne was inoffensive in his silence, but some new company and a warm meal were irresistible lures. He leans forward, patting the neck of his own horse, an ageing grey stallion, an easy grin breaking across his face. "Well, let's make haste, then! I fear old Surefoot will be glad to be rid of the saddle." With that, he rides ahead, the horse breaking into a trot.
Upon hearing the horn, he reins in Surefoot, drawing to a halt as he looks ober the assembled figures. Keeping one hand on the reins, he holds the other aloft, leather-gloved fingers spread wide. "I am Kazimir Vasilovich, and my companions are Jhod and Hanne. We are travellers and followers of Erastil, seeking a place to stay." He lifts his holy symbol high, hoping it will serve as some form of proof. "May we enter?"
Inside the trading post's walls, a woman with bright blonde hair half covered by a scarf takes Surefoot's reins, smiling up at you. "Hello, and welcome to the trading post. I'm Svetlana, and the yelling one without his shirt on is Oleg. We run the trading post..."
She's interrupted as her husband saunters up behind the mules, being certain to give them a wide berth to avoid being kicked. "Yes, and the damn place is starting to feel as busy as Restov. First those four showed up and killed Happs, then these guards rode in a day late. Now you three... Got four beds in the guest-house, but Svetlana's making me reserve them for our honored guests."
At this, Jhod looks up. These honored guests, are they working under a charter from Restov? Erastil has told me to find them and assist them."
Oleg nods reluctantly. "I suppose you'll be wantin' to stay too. Got no room in the buildings, you holy men will have to stay out in front. Got your own tents? I hope so; it gets cold around here this time of year." Grumbling, Oleg walks off toward the stables, where he splashes himself with rainwater from a barrel near the door.
A brown-haired man wearing gold-filigreed field-plate looks up from the tables in the center of the courtyard, but doesn't say anything and soon goes back to pondering the papers spread before him.
With a nod to the woman on duty, Kazimir keeps his free hand up as he guides his horse inside the walls, forcing a small smile to the workers as he goes by. Can't exactly blame anyone for being suspicious with bandits about, but this is hardly welcoming! His smile becomes more genuine at Svetlana's greeting, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. Surefoot snorts against her hand as she takes the reins, large nostrils flaring.
Dismounting, he goes to shake hands with both Oleg and Svetlana, his grin fading a little at Oleg's brusque demeanour. "If it's any reassurance, I don't plan on making any trouble. In fact, if there's anything you need help with, you can always ask. I'm no stranger to hard work!" After Oleg leaves, he looks back at Svetlana, eyes briefly skimming around the trading post. "It sounds as though such a flurry of events bothers him. Is it usually quiet here, then?"
The half elf draws his sword in a flash and sticks the tip of it in Drago's mouth. The look on his face is grave. "There's no murder here. We are under leave of the king of Brevoy whose subjects you have been harassing to end banditry in this region. If you will not be reformed, you will be dead. It's obvious to me which decision you have already made, along with Kressle. Still your tongue until we've made our decision unless you want it cut out before you die."
He turned to the other prisoner. "You seem interested in repentance. There's a lot of manual labor needed at Oleg's fort to make it more habitable and defensible. We'll be glad of your help since we're a bit short-handed at the moment. It's a fitting penance for one who has stolen in this area. We'll make sure you eat and have a place to sleep, but when you're done you'll be a free man. Of course, any attempt to flee from responsibility or continue your life of crime and you'll be killed on sight from then on. Is this reasonable to you?"
Dragos pulls his head back, turning onto his stomach and shouting into the ground. "This ain't Brevoy, and this ain't your king's lands. You have what you hold in the River Kingdoms, and the Stag Lord holds these lands. You cut out my tongue, you'll get the same from him."
Teodor continues to sit on his log, though he looks toward the woods once. "Repentance? No, I'm not looking for that. What I'm offering is a deal. I give you what I know about Kressle, those two boys who rode off when this started, and the boss-fella, and you give me a pardon. I'll come back to that trading post and give you my help, but I'll be a free man when we get there, or I'll be dead." He takes another puff from his pipe and looks coolly at Daen.
"Well, yes, it is. We have a half-dozen trappers and hunters who stop in once or twice a month, and occasionally we'll get traffic on the Rostland Road, but it turns into a footpath just a few miles west of here and most people take the main branch." Svetlana shoots a quick glance at the armored man at his table, leans in close, and lowers her voice. "Oleg moved out here to get away from all the political pandering in Restov and the rest of Brevoy, so naturally, he gets an exiled noble leading the guards we asked for. A Garess or a Lebeda or something, but who's keeping track. You can't blame Oleg for being grumpy about the whole situation. Not that I wouldn't mind some quiet..." She trails off, putting a hand on your arm and leading you around on a quick tour.
The quick inspection of the post shows a serviceable stables (though the stalls are full at present with three light horses of various shades of brown, a hulking jet-black destrier, and an old mare) to the west, a small bunkhouse with a freshly-shingled patch on its roof to the southeast, and a larger house to the southwest. A pair of wooden tables sit near a fire between the two houses, while a small, crudely built shed squats between the larger house and the stable.
The tour ends at the tables when the man in the armor looks up from his furious writing at your approach. He quickly pulls a crude map of the Greenbelt over whatever he was working on and starts poring over it. "The bloody map can't be right. Forest is supposed to be another five miles closer. I'll have to have a talk with the Lord Mayor about supplying his soldiers with good intelligence and how it could save lives." He stands, rising to eye-level with you and offering a hand. "Keston Garess." He offers a smile and points at the map. "Orders from the lord mayor are to defend the trading post and that's it. Not much chance of a glorious end there, eh?"
The wagon yields a bounty of useful items for Laliytsa. Her quiver is full to bursting with arrows, and she's swapped her old axe for one of Kressle's finely crafted pair. The irony that every encounter with the bandits leaves her better prepared for the next is not lost on her. She exits the wagon with a small pile of items and heads to the edge of camp.
Laliytsa dumps a pile of food, drink and coins in front of the bushes. She places Kressle's stag amulet on top. Sticking her finger in the dirt she writes 'For Fey' before brushing her hands off. Making friends with the local fey has become a top priority for her. She suspects they'll need the benevolence of the local fey as they attempt to tame these lands.
Kazimir nods slowly at Svetlana's explanation. Thankfully, home had been relatively free of the interference of nobility - people kept to themselves, helped each other out, and minded their own business (spare, of course, the standard small-town gossip). If the cities were as bad as he'd heard, who could blame Oleg for wanting to get away from it all? I know I wouldn't want to deal with such things, he reminds himself, shooting a quick glance in the direction Oleg had wandered off.
As Svetlana shows him around, he takes in the various buildings - and the state of the horses in the stables. His eyes rove appraisingly over the black warhorse, so different to the draft animals of home, and by extension, his old mount. We'll be better acquainted later, you and I, he promises silently as he's led out and around the rest of the trading post.
When the man in the field-plate pulls the map hurriedly over his writing, Kazimir doesn't bat an eyelash. People were private animals, after all, and it was none of his business. He does, however, lean over to inspect the map, trying to make sense of it - there hadn't been many needed back home, after all; and when he'd begun travelling with Jhod, he just trusted the old man knew where he was going.
"Kazimir Vasilovich," he beams, shaking the offered hand firmly, suddenly aware that next to the marvelous armour of Keston, his own hide and wool ensemble must look like... Well, like Surefoot next to the destrier in the stables. "Why would you seek a 'glorious end'? You're doing good work here, defending the common folk."
As Laliytsa makes her offerings to the fey, Daen is found dealing with the prisoners. He didnt expect it, and he was hoping to have more help, so he was a bit grumpy. That didn't do well for the one called Drago. Daen placed his boot on the criminal's head, smashing his nose into the turf giving him about half a minute of a lack of air and then forcefully turned his head to the side with his heel grinding into the side of his head. As he gasped for breath, Daen deftly poked his sword back inside the criminal's mouth and cut off a large chunk of his tongue.
"I do not make idle threats." He said it simply and evenly as if he were discussing his preference of wine at a dinner party. He released the prisoner to whatever cries of pain he was willing to make as he turned over again to Teodore.
"If you're willing to bet your information is worth your freedom, you are welcome to make that bet. It had better be worth what you think it is, because we're not playing games here. Unless what you reveal is verifiable and useful, letting you walk away before we've dealt with the organized threat would be disadvantageous to our cause. You could simply walk back to your previous master and give him information on us. That we cannot have. And I'm sure you can understand that, not being as foolish as this one over here."
He pointed over to the bound man with his sword as he talked, and when he was done, he put the man out of his misery with a thrust to his heart. "Shall we go?" he asked to the group.
Teodor’s eyes widen as Daen flicks a chunk of tongue out of Dragos’s mouth, but he recovers his composure quickly. ”I do think it’s worth it. As a teaser, the Stag Lord’s got a keep three, four days’ travel south from here, in view of one of them big lakes. Keeps a bunch of bandits with him all the time, and his lieutenants. I don’t have a good grasp on how many, since I only went there once, but it’s more than were here, for certain.”
Teodor submits to having his wrists tied in front of him, and takes a seat on the wagon. A pair of horses, which must’ve bolted when the fighting started, amble slowly into the bandit camp, and Laliytsa is able to quickly capture them and harness them for pulling the wagon.
The traveling is difficult at first, with the wagon bogging down on some of the river crossings and needing to be untangled from underbrush along the stream, and by the time the clearing near the waterfalls is in sight, everyone is exhausted. Fortunately, nothing too out of the ordinary happens, though Ankova wakes everyone to report a bobbing, weaving light, pale and round, in the distance. After a while it vanishes, and soon enough, the dawn breaks.
Once the wagon is out of the woods, the pace speeds up, but it still takes much of the day before the walls of Oleg’s come into view. The scene seems to have changed dramatically in just a handful of days. A banner flaps in the wind, the red two-headed dragon of Brevoy flying over a field of quartered yellow and white, and to the right of the gate sit a quartet of tents, one with a sunshade over the entrance. To the left, a pair of donkeys and a draft horse stand near a green-and-white pavilion tent, the bow of Erastil prominent over its door.
As the party enters the trading post, Svetlana runs forward. Stopping short, she looks at you each curiously. ”How did you fare? Is the threat over?” At the tables, a handful of men and women sit, laughing with your prisoner, including one in beautifully-shined chainmail over silks. Another, a lean, roughly-tanned man of perhaps twenty, sits with the others, though he’s clad in patched and sewn-together hides and an axe hangs from his belt.
"Oh, when love is lost and family has forsaken you, what's left but a glorious death?" Kesten stares off for a moment, a hint of sadness in his eyes, before sitting slowly down on the wooden bench.
"Interested in the area, lad? Well, this map isn't accurate. Not at all, but it's got the general idea." He places a calloused hand on the map, pointing to the rough line of the Narlmarch. "Past the edge of the forest, nothing's been mapped, and most of these rivers have probably jumped courses. Until we've got a better idea of what's out there, my men, and women, she'd have my throat if I didn't mention her, aren't leaving sight of the post."
One of his hands reaches hesitantly for a short stack of papers. "You a farm boy, lad?" he asks, despite him only being a few years older than you. "You look the part. Axe is a good, solid weapon, though, and you seem strong enough to use it well. Now look, like I said, I won't risk my people exploring this land, but there's a handful of jobs need doing. None of them have any rush to them, so take your time, get settled here, and I'll see what Restov's got for you. Does that sound reasonable to you?"
Jhod and Hannes walk through the gate, having left their mules outside the walls. "We're going to set up the pavilion tent, thought you'd want to sleep in there again."
==========
The rest of the day, and the next, passes with plenty of opportunity for you to be helpful around the trading post. Oleg and his partner-in-arguing, a man named Adrik Detlav who claims to be a reformed bandit, explain their plan to re-mount the gate and are grateful for your muscle when the time comes. The rusty hinges screaming as the gate creaks closed are drowned out by a ragged, tired-sounding cheer from the men and women pushing it, followed by dinner, a quick prayer to Erastil led by Jhod, and bed.
When you awaken the next day, two pieces of parchment have been nailed to the stable doors. Before you get the chance to read them, Oleg approaches, seeing if you’re up for working on one of the catapults. The middle-aged guard has the watch, and the young, platinum-blonde woman, who introduces herself as Mirjam Astrauchus, and the old man, her grandfather Johann, offer what assistance they can. Under Adrik’s direction, the southwestern catapult is disassembled into its parts and laid out, though it takes most of the day. As the shadows grow long across the plains and everyone sits down for dinner, Johann, who’s taken his shift on watch, blows the signal horn. A quartet of mounted figures is approaching the fort, and with them is another pair of horses pulling a wagon.
True to his word, Theodric spends most of the time during the journey guiding the cart and informing the group about Kressle's boss, the bandits, and the fort they call home. Eventually, he falls silent, having said his piece, but the information is quite extensive.
1. On the Stag Lord: "The boss of this operation's the Stag Lord, and he's a real monster of a man. Never seen anyone shoot like him, and he's strong, too. Crushed a hunter's hand to mush with one squeeze. He's a drunk, though. You found that case in the wagon? Whiterose vintage, strong stuff. He drinks it like water."
2. On Kressle: "Staggy gave Kressle round a dozen men, counting Happs and his band. You found them, yeah? She was quite a scary one. Been with Staggy for, oh, five months. Ran across one of our patrols in the woods, and the boys tried to have their way with her. She cut off their hands, made 'em tell her where the boss was, and had Staggy throw 'em off the walls."
3. On the Fort: "So, Kressle had a dozen men, but the Stag Lord kept most of 'em with him. He's got a fort, out on the shore of some lake, Tuskwater, I think it is, or maybe Silverstep. Never can remember. Old thing, but he's been having his men restore it. I saw how your attack on us went, and you left a lot of blood behind. You'll never take the Stag Lord like that. Anyways, he has an old man he keeps in the cellar. Think he's actually in charge of everything, and Staggy just keeps the boys in line."
4. On Treasure: "Oh, you're looking for that cheap old ring? Kressle threw it in with the usual shipment when we got back to camp, three months ago. Was supposed to go back to Staggy once we got enough taxes from the Post to make it worth while, but... Well, do you know mites? Filthy little blue things, bloody ugly and a right pain in the neck to fight? Swarm of 'em showed up yesterday and ran off with that sack. You want that ring, you'll have to go under the Old Sycamore, well southwest of here, and get it. Good luck."
5. On the Lieutenants: "Look, you got Kressle, she was important. And you got Happs, but he was just a small-time bandit who fell in with her, never even met Staggy. But there's three others you'll need to handle. Dovan, Auchs (yes, like the animal), and Akiros. Dovan and Auchs, well, you saw them on their horses. Dovan's fast with his little blade, and he's always scheming, and Auchs is...well, he's as strong as an ox, and about as smart. Akiros, though. Something ain't right about him. Never seems happy, even when the Stag Lord gave him second in command."
Laliytsa dismounts and waves at Svetlana. "Not bad. We got Kressle. I think these furs are yours too." She gestures at the wagon. "Lotsa stuff there. These new guy's guards?'
"Well, the three in the ringmail are, and the lordling in the silks. He said he was a Garess, or something." Svetlana pulls the tanned deerhide off the back of the wagon, inspecting the crates of furs happily. "Yep, these were ours. The girl's Mirjam, her grandfather is Johann, and the other guard's Sieghard." She looks toward Oleg, who grabs Adrik by the shoulder. The two men stand and begin unloading furs while she continues. "And then we've got a trio of followers of Erastil camped out in front of the gate too. Jhod Kavken and his apprentice Hannes, and a farmboy from some village." She points at Kazimir. Jhod looks to be in his mid-to-late forties, with a balding head of brown hair and a wrinkled, sun-worn face. His apprentice, Hannes, looks at the party with wide eyes. His blonde hair goes down to his shoulders.
The man in the silks and chainmail stands and walks over. "Svetlana's said a lot about you all. The ones waging war on the bandits? How many have you dealt with so far?"
Laliytsa looks at each person as Svetlana names them. When the noble comes up she takes her time looking him over, then cocks an eyebrow at him. She does not look impressed. When she speaks her accent is noticeably thicker. "Mmmm. Three here, lessee, six no, seven in t' woods. New friend there sayin' lots more inna keep."
She opens her mouth to say something else, closes it, looks frustrated and then starts speaking again. "Considerin' that these people asked fer help months ago y'all took yer time gettin' here. Funny how help ony shows up when Brevoy's gotta interest in t' area." Anger had blossomed across her face as she speaks. She takes a moment to breathe deeply and let her face go impassive again. However long it took help to get here it's probably not the fault of the man in front of her. She looks down at the dirt as she speaks again, one hand rubbing her neck absentmindedly.
"We hafta deal with the ones at t' keep. We'd be thankful fer yer help, if y'could."
Love lost? Family forsaken? Kazimir is momentarily torn between granting Krston his privacy, and wanting to help, his mind already seeking relevant proverbs and passages. In the end, he elects the former - it was clearly a heavy weight for the other man. He'd share it if he felt the need. Things were different with strangers, he reminds himself. "I wouldn't discount anything yet, Sir. I believe every man needs a purpose, and maybe you'll find yours here. You're still young, too - Pharasma may not be ready for you yet." He gives Keston a smile which he hopes is warm and reassuring.
He watches the other man's fingers on the map as he points out borders and inaccuracies, but it's the rivers that catch his interest. The dream drifts across his mind, mighty antlers pressing onward; standing on the bank of a river that stretched without crossing as far as he could see, the stag beside him, as if waiting.
The question snaps him out of his reverie, the rise at the end of the sentence unmistakeable. "Farm boy through and through, sir," he affirms, nodding. "No shame in remembering where you came from." At the offer of work, he hesitates, remembering why he came here in the first place, but not wanting to refuse any assistance that could be useful. "I'll see what I can do," he agrees awkwardly, before he's mercifully saved by Jhod and Hanne. With another small smile, he departs to help set up the tent.
After the days of solid work, Kazimir is wearily, but content. The weary cheers as the gate is re-mounted gladden him; the smallest senses of security could do wonders to set people at ease. Working on the catapult is a new experience - he just follows directions, carrying and setting down components, taking care of grunt work.
By the time everyone sits down for an evening meal, he's grinning despite his exhaustion. He watches the new arrivals curiously from his seat, watching as Keston approaches. One of the women seems frustrated. Deciding he's eavesdropped long enough, he stands, stretches his aching arms, and walks over, extending a hand to the new group.
"Forgive me for listening in, but if you're looking for help, perhaps I can be of assistance?" he asks, raising his eyebrows questioningly. He looks downright shabby standing in his hides and leathers next to Keston's chainmail and silks, but his warm eyes and honest smile soften the rough image.
The noble flushes and gives Laliytsa a scowl, growing defensive. "Now look, miss, I don't exactly have a lot of pull with the mayor, or with my father. There wasn't anything I could do until I got orders and men-" He stops as Mirjam shoots a dirty look his way. "-and women. They only sent me a few days ago. As for assisting you with the rest of the bandits...I'm under strict orders. I can't move my people away from the trading post unless I can promise Oleg and Svetlana their safety, and there's too much we don't know out there for that promise. How about this? Let's start from the top, shall we?"
Scratching his head with one hand, he offers his other. "Kesten Garess. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss. Now, you've done good work with the bandits, and it so happens one of the papers I was sent with details a reward for dealing with them. Let's see here... Yes, this one." He walks over to the stable doors and tears a piece of parchment off them, leaving just one hanging there. "Now, I counted three graves out back, plus the prisoner, plus your new prisoner. That makes five. I'm assuming you did, in fact, kill at least one other, so this task is done. I'll have Johann send a bird to Restov, and they'll send some coin back this way for you."
After a moments hesitation Laliytsa shakes the man's hand. "Laliytsa. 'Miss' makes me sound too...fancy." She nods at the other man and can't help but return his smile. "We gotta unpack the wagon 'n stable the horses, help would be nice." She gestures at herself and her companions. "Us, we ain't in top shape at the moment" Laliytsa herself is smudged with dirt and mud, a few stray leaves stuck in her hair. There's a bandage wrapped around her chest that's stained with dry blood.
Laliytsa turns back to Kesten. Her eyes flick away and look down at the ground, her attitude like she's conceding a point to the man. "We're lucky we ain't in worse shape, what with how many we had t'fight, and there's even more at t'keep. Don't think we can take it without your group's help"
The information the man gave seemed useful, and it gave them opportunity to perhaps make a bit of headway in the area. They arrived to a much more bustling Oleg's trading post than they'd left, but he had mentioned before they were expecting guards. Daen was actually glad for that because they wouldn't have to stick around here and protect them instead of finishing their charter, but it still did complicate things. He'd planned to have a talk with the group after they arrived, but with all of these new people, he didn't know when that might happen.
Daen pulled packages of the loot they'd taken from the camp and brought them into the fort as Laliytsa flirted with the newcomers. He came up behind her and addressed the friendly one she shook hands with. "It seems we may be in need of assistance, but I do have to ask: why do you wish to help us?"
Kazimir nods at the suggestion, about to head to the wagon when Daen approaches. Arresting his movement, he extends the same rough-gloved hand to him as well. "Well, where I'm from, people help each other out when needed, so if I have a chance, I tend to offer my aid. Kesten can't go against the orders he's been given, but I'm under no such obligation. I came here of my own accord, and for my own reasons." He taps the holy symbol around his neck with his free hand. "My name is Kazimir Vasilovich, and I'm a humble servant of Erastil. I've fought bandits once before, and if you want it, my axe-arm is yours." Glacing over at the mounts, he adds, "And I'm afraid you'll find there's no room in the stables with these new arrivals. My companions and I had to keep our mounts out by the tents." He nods in the direction of the gates.
"That's alright. Sleepin' outside's good for all creatures." Laliytsa looks over to Daen. "So, we get unpacked an' then we talk, all of us?" She gestures to include both Kazimir and Kesten. Her hesitation speaks volumes; she's clearly looking for Daen to take charge.
The swordsman quirked an eyebrow. "Gods don't mean much to me, but if you have no love for bandits that's good enough for me. I'm Daen." He stuck out his hand for a shake. "I've no family name by order of the king." Without missing a beat, he explained the rest.
"Our charter is two fold. One, we end banditry in the area. Two, we map the area. Since we've gotten here we've killed a few bandits, let a few live and there's at least seventeen more. Their base locale is unknown to us, so we will likely be doing some exploration until we find it and come up with a proper assault plan. I hope you brought a horse, but I suppose we have a few extra if you are in need. Once we get our prisoners and goods situated we'll need to organize our efforts here before we get out on the plains again." He gave a nod to their ranger. " Feel free to make any last purchases you might need to make."
Daen walked toward Oleg without waiting for a response. He threw down the loot from the bandit camp that needed some liquidation and addressed the man. "More additions to our credit line." Not wanting to make it well known, he waited until he had the opportunity to slip in the information. "It seems the ring was spirited away by some mites. I hear their place is under the Old Sycamore. We'll root it out and get back to you as soon as we find it."
Kazimir stares after Daen's retreating back for a moment, eyebrows twitching closer to a frown. "Is he always so curt?" he asks of Laliytsa, before shaking his head. "Well, let's see about unpacking. Sooner the work's done, sooner we can all rest." Clapping her on the shoulder, he heads to the wagon, beginning to unload what's left.
The wagon is unloaded easily enough and the furs returned to Svetlana. She stows them in the shed along with those that Gratia brought in a few days ago. The sacks of coins, Kressle's personal money, and the money found on the bandits adds up to 255 GP. The other sack seems to be filled with assorted nicknacks and curios, most of which seem to have little value, and many of which are broken. The crate of "Whiterose Chartreuse" draws a look from the two ex-bandits, with Adrik looking curious and Teodor looking nervously at the crate. When it's opened, eight clear glass bottles, each filled with a greenish liquor, can be seen, nestled in tightly-packed straw.
Once the wagon is unpacked and the horses taken care of, Kesten Garess beckons the party, and Kazimir, to have a seat at the tables. He shuffles a few papers before producing one with nail-holes in it. "Now, I know you're likely going to be busy exploring out there and waging your war against the bandits, but I met this woman on the way here. Gracie, Gatsia, something like that. She told me about these kobolds out in the Kamelands, said they'd been causing problems for a lot of the hunters. I drafted up a bounty on them, or at least on their peaceful cooperation. You deal with them and the throne will make it worth your while. Or at least, the mayor of Restov will."
He hands over a paper detailing the kobold job and leans back, cupping the back of his head with his hands. "Now, did you have a plan for your exploration? Regions you wanted to explore first? I'd personally like to know what's nearby so my troops can make the appropriate arrangements."
The amount of objectives seemed to be multiplying. Kobolds, Mites, Bandits, Radishes; of course not all were as important. Which would he recommend? "Exploration in the area is a priority. We know what we need to do, but we don't know where to do it. We should probably spend some time mapping around at least the immediate area and then spread out from there."
Kazimir sits with the others when beckoned, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking over the papers. He briefly wonders what he's signed himself up for, whether he's gotten in over his head - but the memory of the dream reassures him. I'm where I need to be. I'm sure of it.
Swallowing his nervousness at boldly suggesting something as a newcomer, he says, "If I'm being entirely honest, I'd like to search the forest. I've heard there's a temple to Erastil there that may need cleansing, and as a servant, I'd like to see that done sooner rather than later." After a moment, he adds, "But I understand you may have more pressing concerns than the hearsay of a stranger."
Standing, Kesten stretches and leans against the table, both hands down. "Alright, the immediate area and the Narlmarches. Do you have any idea how many days you plan to be out? It'd be good if I knew when to expect you so I don't have to plan an ill-fated rescue mission.
Aside from that, it'd be helpful to get some of the forest scouted out. I want to build a second floor to that guest-house, but without lumber, it's not going to happen. I've got to see if Oleg will allow it first, but if he does, that'll help with this overcrowding and tent-living. If you'd be so kind as to take note of anything for construction, or other resources, while you're out there, I'd appreciate it."
"It wouldn't hurt to survey the areas we've already traversed. They were well wooded. And also we need to find the foodstuffs that Svetlana desired. She will need them if we're going to have a lot of people here. My recommendation is that we take care of surveying the top middle of our charter. Let's take a week for the trip and look to be back at the end of that, coming back sooner if need be. On later trips we can explore the Northwest and eastern corners, then move south from there."
As darkness falls on Oleg’s and the moon crests the horizon, Svetlana and Oleg head into their home. A chill sets in and the guards head off to their tents, with the exception of Mirjam, who’s drawn the first night’s watch. Kesten offers each of you a hand, shaking heartily. ”You seem to have some idea of a plan. If you’re not back in ten days, I’ll see about putting out a patrol to find you, or your bodies. If I don’t see you tomorrow, good luck.” He heads off to his tent, though a candle-light flickers inside for nearly an hour before it goes dark.
The morning dawns brightly and beautifully, with the mountains of Brevoy just barely visible on the northern horizon. The sizzling sound of something frying and the smell of bacon accompany the dawn’s colors on a few clouds. Svetlana is at the fire, a huge skillet set precariously on an iron grill across the flames. ”We had a few racks of bacon left, and I figured you wouldn’t eat this well out there. I’ll be taking the bandits’ gear to Restov while you’re gone, so if you’ve got any special things you’d like me to pick up, let me know and I’ll see if the money I get for selling this can afford it.”
As the party makes its preparations to leave, Sieghard sounds the horn. ”Got a figure coming down the Rostland Road, on foot.” Sure enough, there’s a person approaching Oleg’s, but from this distance, it’s difficult to make out any details about him, or her.