" I... I'll go with Silas. It might help smooth the way to have a dwarf along. " Harbek says getting up sounding a little unsure. " Besides I'm suddenly feeling much better. I've never held with magic before I met you lot, but it certainly seems helpful. " he nods at Caveth and Silas.
"We've been able to hold this gate so far, but I'll not begrudge anyone here - who is safe to go - the opportunity to return to Barrjka. If you three leave quickly on foot, I think that Tandus and I, augmented by Caveth and Joseph, can hold this gate should Ornsrich, Garradeer, and Kleis need to head out with the boat. At the very least, we can retreat slowly and buy everyone time."
"That sounds like a good plan, Roland. I wish you the best of luck, and gods' speed when you need it."
"Don't know how quickly we can go, but we might as well start. Let me get some things from my chest - I don't see how we can take the whole thing."
As Silas searches through his chest of belongings and the rest of the group readies themselves to leave or defend as they have chosen, one voice speaks up above the rest.
'Excuse me, but... Who are all these people?'
"Welcome back to the land if the wakeful. Don't get up quickly, Mr Atterleigh, you'll get dizzy and just fall down again. These people have been defending the city from our little plague problem."
'Plague problem? We have a... What? I'm sorry, I don't quite follow you.'
Atterleigh sits up slowly, looking genuinely perplexed. Further questioning reveals that he doesn't know where he is, who Harbek or any of the others are, or why you aren't still investigating the logging site. The more you explain to him, the more confused and agitated he becomes - it seems the last thing he remembers is seeing something moving in the first when standing at the wagon next to Moffrey.
Harbek moves over to Silas and looks into the chest.
" I could probably shoulder a bit more weight without being slowed down. " He gets his backpack and starts reorganising things to make more room.
"Thank you Harbek."
"I suspect poor Mr Atterleigh was possessed - or at least dominated - in some way by the plague. The fact he has not becomes infected is, I think, an excellent sign that perhaps the plague does require some physical contact to be passed on." Silas seems cheered a little by this news.
"Possessed? Now, that doesn't sound good. How would we know, Mr Silas, if we were possessed?"
The various groups set about packing their possessions and readying themselves for travel or defense. The River-gate boat is dragged out, a much smaller vessel than your now destroyed logging barge, but it will get the majority of Roland's troupe to the city with no problems unless they run into something actively hostile - and they've survived up until now, they reason. They're confident that they can handle anything that comes their way.
"A fascinating question Ms Towerweed. I will have to think on it. Perhaps something can be devised."
But also somehow relieved. The rain is getting stronger again, a constant pounding on the leaves of the canopy above you as you head east, and while the rustle and drip may make it harder for you to listen for disturbances in your surroundings knowing now for sure that the unfolding creatures try to avoid it, or are even genuinely damaged by it, gives you a sense of slight safety.
You move for maybe half a mile between the trunks of the trees before realising that you're not alone - the wolfhound is following you at a distance, its collar glinting in the occasional shafts of light that make their way down to the forest floor.
Silas shivers when he sees the wolfound.
The damn creature is still with us.
Tired. I'm tired. I just want to see my wife, and sleep for a week.
But the safety of the rain is transient, and we must take advantage of it. I hope these dwarves have something that might hold off or cure the plague. Something stopped it previously, so it must have a weakness. If the dwarves know it, maybe they are the ones who have stopped it previously.
I wonder why the rain stops them? The sensation, they said. Neural overload? Might there be some other way to trigger it? What else can cause that sort of synaptic static?
"Perhaps it is best if Atterleigh remains here at the rivergate," Caveth suggests, "If "she" has some sort of influence over him, we should keep him away from the city at the very least. If he stays here "she" won't see or learn much of anything new. I don't think we want him going to High Krandon if there's any chance "she" can learn what the Dwarves are up to through him."
Kay walks along with her round chin up. It is only her natural good spirits and optimism which keep her from slumping under a tree to sleep for a day or two. She has nicks and cuts and bruises all over, she has missed several meals, and the end of this situation doesn't seem to be near enough. It is a lot more than she expected, and probably more than what was expected of her, but she is still her cheery self. Even the wolfhound seems like a good omen, and clearly the rain is good for her and her companions even if it is uncomfortable.
Harbek trudges through the rain, using a broken tree branch as a walking stick he walks head bowed every now and then he tuts to himself.
I wonder what High Krandon is like, why did we never go there? I hope they know how to keep the plague at bay and it isn't just a coincidence... Why did we never visit? We must have relatives there... I hope my coming along smooths the way for us like Silas seems to think, I hope it doesn't make things worse... Steel and Stone! How can she still be smiling! " Tut "
Kays smiles encouragingly at the dwarf, "Off to see your kinsmen are we, or do you not know the dwarves of High Krandon?"
"Do you want me to take a turn on the watch, Roland?" Caveth wants to help out but the atmosphere at the river gate remains uneasy. Considering all that had transpired, the way he had come to be in their company, it was not surprising the members of Roland's troupe regarded him with suspicion. He offers, hoping to be granted the opportunity to prove himself but knows he may well be disappointed.
While Roland considers his offer, Caveth steals a glance at the half elf who seems to be his right hand "man". It's not very often he meets another of his kind and this particular specimen is not exactly hard on the eyes. He shifts his gaze quickly when Tandus catches him looking, and tries to decide if she is also intrigued.
Rolan nodded at Caveth's inquiry and looked around to take another quick count of available personnel. "We'll take it in rotations. Two per shift with the spare on at night. Tandus, Garradeer, I want you two on at nights, for obvious reasons." "I'll take mornings. Ornsrich and Kleis, you two can work with Caveth and Joseph over who takes the remainder of the shifts. Moffrey, Atterleigh, due to the situation that surrounds you, I can not have you take part in the watch rotation. Sleep when you can, help out when asked, and we'll see what the future holds."
Kay smiles encouragingly at the dwarf, "Off to see your kinsmen are we, or do you not know the dwarves of High Krandon?"
"Tut... Hmm." Harbek looks up again at Kay and tries to mimick her smile. "Uh, My parents grew up there, but I have not been there, uh, in a while. "
, despite the lack of danger in the immediate environment, something in your gut is turning - you are uneasy, and you don't know why. Surely you of all people have nothing to fear from High Krandon, and yet... there is a pall in the air for you, your intrigue tainted.
, Tandus does indeed catch you looking at her. Although her orcish features are minimal your (incredibly unexpected) attraction to her makes your stomach clench unexpectedly, a mixture of long-bred racial distrust quite out of keeping with the modern age.
The half-orc does indeed catch your eye, her muscles gleaming in the rain where they show under her cloak and furs.
'See something you like, long-strider?' she asks, mockingly.
"No, uh, I mean...not like that," Caveth clears his throat and continues, "It's just that, as much as most humans are decent, they don't really know what it's like to be only half human. I was thinking you might understand a bit better. I was thinking it might be interesting to talk to about family and..."
He trails off, finally realizing how awkward this had all become.
'I was raised In the tollenquist marshes, up past the mountains and toward the orphan sea. I'm far from home, and far from my family, and that's how I like it.
'Up there, half-breeds are as common as the full-fledged. It's easier to live up there, for most... but there are still always stories about us, especially orc-born, as to how we're made. The murders, the ravishing of innocents... and yes, sometimes that still happens. But up closer to the orphan sea, those kind of stories are more often baseless than not.
'My mother was an orc, full-blooded, and a caravan guard for a group of honest traders. She was paid well and she enjoyed her life, and she caught the eye of the trail-owner - a man by the name of Pater, my blood-father. He courted her, ignored the jibes of his friends and the whispers of his employees, and they became lovers. I am the result.'
She picks up part of the broken boat, tossing it into the river after a brief inspection, turning away from you but continuing.
'They're nice folk, my mother and father. Progressives, even up there. They used to say that I was the best of both worlds.'
And now she turns back to you, a humourless smile on her lips.
'I proved them wrong, and they sent me as far away as they could. I never blamed them. Still don't.'
Seeming to realise how much of her life she just shared with someone who is still little better than a stranger she seems suddenly awkward, running a hand through her hair and adjusting the rain-cloak around her.
'I've said my piece, long-strider. Now, how about you?'
"See Mr Toruun, Mr Bishop, this is nice, right. The rain is actually cheery, if only because we know that She and her minions can't abide it. And the forest just seems more... natural, undisturbed here. Don't you think that it's nice?"
Silas looks up and blinks "I think nice is being in a nice warm bed with a hot cup of tea reading a book and listening to the rain outside" he remarks gruffly.
"I grew up with my mom. My father only came around once or twice a season. It doesn't seem like that long to be gone if you're an elf but for a child, it was an eternity. It was hard on my mom too but she loved him even though he was so absent. He was a charming man and my mother thought he was very handsome." Caveth shrugs. "He was never cruel to her, or me for that matter, but they were from two different worlds."
"Still, Mom gave me a good life. The best she could and I wanted for next to nothing." he pauses and takes a deep breath with one heave of his shoulders before continuing, "She died while I was...away. And I haven't seen my father in over a decade. I'm sure not much has changed for him."
"It's hard to connect with an elf. There's no appreciation of time for them, never any sense of urgency or passion because there's always another day. Maybe it was difficult for my father to watch my mother grow old but it seems more likely that he just didn't notice and then one day she was gone," he sighs, betraying how much he is still saddened by the thought, "That's just kind of how it went."
Then he asks a question that might be considered impertinent were they not trading so much information already. "Will Orcish blood affect your longevity?" This is what he'd been driving at from the start. Elves lived so long, humans aged so quickly and he was stuck somewhere in the middle. How did this half-blood compare?
Although the declaration is less than positive she doesn't seem to be too put out by not knowing how long she has left.
"Well, yes Mr Bishop, I too would prefer that. But it's best to make the most of what you've got, and to look for the positive in your current situation. No point always chasing the greenest grass when the paddock you're in is already green."
"I suppose old age won't be a problem for any of us here either if we keep standing around." Caveth says, favouring Tandus with a tight grin. "I'll take the mid-day shift with Joseph and the other two can take the evening."
Kay finds it interesting that despite the rain, she can hear crickets chirping.
Moffrey, however, becomes a problem.
You are woken by Tandus, screaming - not the shout of a warrior, but a scream of genuine fear. The sky is grey, the light wan - shadows still spill across the river gate, and you can see little in the pre-dawn gloom.
The absence of raindrops steals away from the calm air of the forest, reminding you of the dangers that lurk out of sight and are now free to pursue you... but just as this realisation hits you, you catch sight of something through a break in the trees.
Firelight. Hundreds of points of it, less than a mile away by your estimation. Much stronger than the light of the now-rising moon, those points of fire represent the first real vestige of civilisation you have seen in days - in fact, the first little fragment of civilisation it feels like you've ever seen.
Roland's eyes are wide open and he takes in his surroundings for a split second before flying into action. He puts his boots on and grabs his musket, loading it on the move, and sprints towards the sound of Tandus' scream.
Silas is noticeably more nervous in the rain-clear air.
"Firelight up ahead. I think we have to assume that's what we are heading for. It's less than a mile away. I know we're all tired, and sore, but we need to make one last push."
If intended to be inspirational his speech falls flat.
Silas resumes walking, one foot slogging in front of the other, an endless death-march into the unknown.
You see what caused it immediately.
Moffrey is bent double, coughing wildly. With each long hack the ground is spattered with droplets of blood, a macabre expulsion... but not one that you would have expected to provoke terror in someone with as much of a stomach for killing as Tandus.
When the man raises his head though, you realise what has caught her off guard. Moffrey's head is cracked open, a vertical split that runs from the middle of his lips to the crown of his head, and then again down the front of his throat. His coughs issue not from his mouth but from the raw expanse of his opening throat, and he flails on the ground in front of a paralysed Tandus, her blade in hand but drooping loosely.
You catch his eyes in the moonlight, and realise the worst thing - there is still human intelligence behind them. From what you can read of his splitting face he is overcome with fear, panicked, and very much aware of what is happening to him. He tries to speak, but his words are garbled by his split tongue, lost amongst the coughs.
"Well spotted, Mr Bishop. Perhaps they are boiling some tea just for us, Mr Bishop. And with some luck, it will be the dwarves we are looking for. Do they look like dwarven fires, Mr Toruun?"
Kay's little legs are pushed hard to pick up the pace. One final push is worth it, as she fears that which the rainfall has held back.
" One fire looks much the same to me as another Kay, especially from this distance, but the prospect of being warm and dry is enough for me. Let's push on. "
Harbek marches on, head up now that the rain has stopped and while he still looks grumpy he no longer clicks his tongue or mutters under his breath. As the group approaches the fires Harbek Will motion for everyone to slow down and stay quiet.
" We don't want to go blundering in let's have a quiet look first. "
Harbek loads his crossbow and tries to sneak closer to one of the fires.
Roland doesn't hesitate. There was literally no thought in Roland's mind as he sighted in at center mass on his target.
Moments after Roland, Caveth arrives on the scene bare footed, unarmoured and only his bow along with one of his quivers in hand. He stops short at the sight of Moffrey and numbly nocks an arrow as Roland takes his first shot. Caveth's hand trembles just slightly as he looses a shot of his own.
The stag was one thing but this was Moffrey, who had driven the cart upriver. The earnest young fellow who had tried his best to be helpful. Caveth's stomach turns, threatening to cause a mess all over. "Death is your freedom," he grimaces and readies a second arrow.
Moffrey, the cart-driver, is dead.
As you near the fringe of the forest you get your first good look at the hill-fort and surrounding area, lit equally well by the moon and the torchlight from its many homes. It is a village, maybe even more of a small town, from which the light issues. Each of the homes has a burning torch in front of them and, although there are no outer walls, there are several guard towers with bright, beacon-like fires burning atop them.
Sitting squat in the middle of the town is the hill-fort - not placed on a hill, as so many of the unacquainted expect, but carven from hill itself. The grass and trees that cover the hillside at the center of town are meticulously maintained, more like a rising formal garden than wild scrubland, and large stone-mantled doors are set in rings around each level of the slopes.
You can smell cooking meat and woodsmoke, and manure from the outlying farms. In fact, nothing seems out of the ordinary at all. If this place has been menaced by the infection, they are hiding it well.