Moklik will begin gathering stones to build a cairn over the bodies, knowing no other way that elves would want to be disposed of.
"We should find some dry ground to rest on tonight." Wheatbeard had did not mind the dirt, but he did mind the vulnerability sleeping in mud would give him. It wasn't exactly warm, either. Looking around, the Dwarf searched the area for a less damp spot.
There are several suitable places nearby that are drier, but slightly more exposes. You would guess that the elves chose this spot because they thought the valley and the giant rock would conceal their campfire.
It was several hours past sundown when the raven finally returned. The rain had cleared, and a few breaks in the clouds allowed glimpses of the faint stars, and of the pale, violet flickering of an aurora to the north. Moklik was putting the final touches to his makeshift cairn - a thin layer of rocks intended to give some dignity, but not enough to deter a dermined scavenger.
The bird hopped around for a bit, finally perching on a nearby boulder where it could survey the whole group.
"Nosoi find humans!" it finally announced. "Alltoes humans." it adds, pointing with its beak to the three talons first on its left foot, then on its right. "Sit around burnyfire. Elf-female nest under tree." It looked at the group quizically. "For no-wings, half day walkywalk."
It hopped off its rock, and bounced over to the cairn, where Moklik was wiping the mud from his hands. "Food?" it said hopefully.
"Mmm. The dry ground will have us visible. But then again, being wet didn't help the Elves much." Wheatbeard saunters off towards the dry ground, motioning for the others to follow.
He didn't much care for the news the bird returned with - after all, now the humans were entangled on the other side of this situation. Knowing firsthand what a divided species could do, the Dwarf didn't envy this predicament.
"If we were to move quickly, we might catch them sleeping - but at the risk of our own exhaustion."
Bonewright seems troubled - although he strives to sound neutral he fails to hide a preference for the pursuit.
"I don't want spill men's blood. But maybe she is princess or envoy, can tell of the orcs? Half day not too much to lose. We should leave well before sun rise."
"No more waste time. We camp now on dry ground. Sleep good. Then we move fast, no breaks, find the elf girl." Tupilek starts to do exactly that.
The Dwarf shakes his head. "Chasing at night would be folly. We would be tired, and we don't know the land as they do where they are. It would be better to rest here and break with the dawn."
"And travelling a half-day's distance at night is even more foolish," Asheru adds. "Let us make camp while we still have light to do so, then take up the hunt come sunrise."
Moklik watches the exchange, but says nothing. He is unused to dissent in any group, having never been in any group and so stands silent.
"We rest then we set out in the morning as soon as possible. We strike hard and fast. Try to capture at least on Human. Get as much information as possible. Then we take up our primary mission again. Hopefully with a new ally."
Stopping to think he looks up. Staring intently at the group.
"Any objections?"
"If you feel it best, so be it. I suggest that once they start moving they will outpace us, so starting in the pre-dawn would be better. We must reach them before they start moving."
Moklik nods, eager to do whatever will make the others happy.
"What is the current hour?"
"We start travel when still dark, slow, but better than lose prey. Them not know someone coming. Won't leave their camp until light. We can close gap."
.
It was dark, and cold, but the twin moons cast enough light through the gaps in the cloud to make progress possible. Pikkuveli was not pleased to be roused from his standing slumber at such an early hour, and make his displeasure clear with a few 'accidental' slaps from his trunk. Nosoi glared angrily at bonewright, but hopped up onto his shoulder and dozed. The other ravens steadfastly refused to budge from their perches.
The chill night had frozen little skins of ice over the muddy ground that shattered noisily as the group advanced. During summer, hunters would often leave their camps before dawn, hoping to catch prey as they grazed in the relative safety of the morning twilight, but this early in the year the world slept until whatever warmth the day would bring spread over the land.
The group was heading east, out of the hills and back down into the scrub plain. As they reached the drier ground, they were able to make faster progress, with the terrain dotted with the small copses and woods they had encountered earlier.
After a few hours travel, Moklik sniffed the air, scenting woodsmoke on the gentle predawn breeze. There was a campfire somewhere ahead, probably in shelter of the small copse of trees the group could see standing on the slightly raised ground ahead, their bare branches silhouetted against the slightly lightening eastern sky.
Bonewright returns to sleep, relying on his dreams to finally clear his mind of the idea he possesses a carved tusk and hawk's skull.
In the morning he carves in his mind a raven skull and the thigh-bone of a fox.
Holding the shaman's items he visualises the raven skull. Imagines it crumbling, being recreated. Listens to the voices on the wind, the smells in the air.
"Friends - I communed whilst I slept and when I awoke I saw. I believe that the elves buried here, who guarded this captive, wish to help us. While these two armbands do not belong to us they have been lent."
"Wear them, and know that you may call upon the elf totem of the peryton to aid you in battle in this cause. As we buried three elves here, so we may call upon this totem three times this day."
"I see just enough of these bundles to know it is a magic of life and healing - the antithesis of my own. More than that I cannot say, but perhaps others among you may see more. I believe that if one is gravely injured or dying this may help."
"There is Art buried in the marks on this paper - an Art I will try to replicate that it may outlive the Shaman who made it." he seems to smile slightly "Rest assured that I will do so after we leave, rather than delay us further."
"How we do this? Who is sneaky can go look, see what there?" Tupilek asks the others after they near the small grove with the fire smell.
Moklik nods. "I will slip forward. I will return."
(+1 if snowy or icy)
Moklik crept forward, his step almost silent, and his form blending with the dark shadows that still drowned the dim landscape.
Slipping into the wooded area, he crouched low, working his way carefully towards the camp. He could see a number - he counted four - of figures huddled in sleeping furs around the campfire, while another two, obviously sentries, their backs to him, mumurred occasional conversation. Although nominally on guard, it was clear that the two were relaxed and unobservant, and not expecting trouble. From where he was, there was no sign of a captive.
The hairs tingled on the back of his neck. Something was wrong, he sensed on an unconscious level, though he could find no words in his mind to say exactly what it was. He crept closer.
His sense of unease increased as he approached. It was like an overwhelming sense of deja vu - that he had seen this scene, or something like it, somewhere before. And recently. Were the voices of the sentries somehow... familiar?
Then one of the sentries turned to spit, and his face was illuminated briefly in the dying firelight. It was a face that Moklik knew well - one that tormented and hurled insults many times. It was one of Garrilk Chiefson's companions, from the group who had left the village at same time as his own.
Moklik freezes, his body tensed. 'Garrilk? Why would his band slaughter elves so lightly? And what am I to do? Is there duty to tribe before companions?' Moklik burned with indecision: should he step forward and ask the tribesmen what they were doing, or should he inform his companions? His desire to be accepted into the tribe was great, indeed, but his comapnions had accepted him without insult, without injury, even with gifts and pledges of support; where did his loyalties lie? Who deserved them?
Finally, he crept away as quietly as he came, moving slowly and intently toward his companions, his mind decided: his companions deserved his loyalty far more than these sons of vultures.
Heading back to camp, Moklik pauses just outside sight range and whispers the whipporwhill's call, the signal for a sentry approaching.
"I have seen the humans. They are the companions of Garrilk Chiefson, of my tribe. There are six, but I saw no elf among them. I know not if they are the killers we seek, though I know them to be boastful and cruel." Moklik looks guilty saying the last part, his shame at being both rejected by them and betraying them shining in his cheeks.
"We should send someone to talk to them while the rest sit back and provide Cover. All Archers [i]and Casters. should stay back to provide support. If they are the ones who attacked the elves we shall find out why and determine from there. Who is best to wear the Armbands?"[/b]
Moklik sighs. "I know them well. I can talk with them if you need someone. Though they do not respect me."
Seeing the sunrise was something Wheatbeard didn't mind; in fact, it was one of the most enjoyable things he became accustomed to on the surface. The difference of color in the sky, dispelling the blacks and grays of night, was quite a spectacle some days. It almost made up for being tired.
There was a larger issue afoot here, Wheatbeard sensed. Why would the same tribe which sent them out seem to make ill for their common mission? It didn't make sense - yet.
"Cover? We used their fire some nights ago, and you're expecting a fight?" This didn't add up at the moment. "They wouldn't have done in the Elves without reason."
Moklik's account of them being boastful was something Wheatbeard could account for, but cruel not as much. That uncertainy gave him pause from completely rejecting their premise for caution. "I will move forward to hail them, but it would be good someone of their own kind came with me."
"Wheatbeard. I do not know how it is with your people. Humans form tribes, follow a leader. Garrilk followed the chief, but if they see their group out here as a new tribe, they are a new tribe."
"This new tribe killed the men of another people and stole their woman."
"Or perhaps Garrilk is following his orders to lead the search at the Mistwood borders. The chief was not clear what he was to do there. Perhaps the elves and the orcs are in league."
[b]"I agree that we need to know more, whether through talk or magics, before we attack what may be allies. I fear that doing so will give away our surprise."
"A Bonewright receives Hospitality from most, so I may be the best choice to talk. Once offered Hospitality I am bound by Geas though."
"I know of Garrilk as well," Asheru offers. "I am no friend of his, but he has never wished me ill either, if we wish to parlay with him."
"I am thinking if Nosoi can identify whether these Humans were the ones he seen with the elf or not. Wheatbeard. If they are aggressive or unwilling to cooperate, I would rather be ready for a fight over being surprised by them. Wouldn't you? As Bonewright has said. Humans love to form Tribes and such. We ourselves are not all that far from our own little tribe. Though I prefer to think of us as a Hunting Party over something like a tribe."
"I would rather not fight my own tribesmen at all," Asheru replies. "But if a fight is to be had, better to have it on our terms."
He turns to Bonewright. "Is your feathered friend clever enough to tell one human from another?"
"You known to them, go them and discover their purpose and the fate of elf. You tell them alone, we stay hidden near to grove. You need help, yell loud."
"Ask if they seen any Elves after greeting them. If need be you can say we heard they might be able to help us."
Regardless of who goes, Moklik will sneak out to watch/listen to the conversation. He'll leave before the ambassadors and take 10 on his stealth check to find a good place to listen from that isn't visible by the humans.
The rising sun was just beginning to tinge the eastern horizon as Moklik again slipped towards the camp, a few minutes ahead of Asheru.
Taking up an overwatching position in a thicket, he again surveyed the scene. The camp was beginning to stir, with the sentries standing to stretch their cold muscles, and then shaking awake their sleeping comrades. There was a bit of banter, and Garrilk ordered one of his men to stretch a skin across the fire to boil some water for bittergrass tea and porridge.
The sky was lightening now, banishing the shadows, and allowing Moklik to see what he had not before - 20 feet further back into the copse, an elf-woman was bound to a tree, her mouth gagged with a leather strap, and her furs torn and in disarray. She hung limply against her bonds, showing no signs of life.
Asheru began his approach, walking openly up towards the camp.
The shaman's approach was not noticed at first, and he could smell the woodsmoke and the brewing bittergrass. Although the air was still, the grass underneath his feet seemed to sway and bend, and small whirls of last year's leaves were thrown up as he passed, as if a silent breeze followed him. Voices in his mind urged caution, spoke of danger, laughed at forgotten jests and sang songs from mouths that were long dust.
Finally one of Garrilk's groups glanced up and gave a cry of surprise and alarm, spilling his porridge as he struggled to his feet and reached for his spear. Garrilk peered at the figure approaching out of the gloom, and then laughed.
"Well, well, it's the addle-pate shaman. The orcs cannot be as fearsome as they claimed if they allowed you to escape the ambush. Too busy feasting on mammoth-flesh, I expect. Did those voices in your head lead you here, addle-pate? Perhaps the ancestors are anxious for you to join them. Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint them."
He turns to one of his men.
"Slit his throat."
Perception to listen to hear anything that would denote he needs to act.
He stands with his Bow and Arrow ready to fire the arrow into one of the Humans.
Ready an attack against the guard the moment they make an aggressive action against Asheru.
Moklik watches and listens in open shock, his mouth hanging wide open. 'Garrilk a traitor? Consorting with orcs? He wouldn't be that stupid, would he?' When he mutters his last sentence, Moklik's mind is made up: Garrilk must die.
Standing, he draws his atlatl and dart. He draws it back and launches the dart at Garrilk, then runs toward the attackers, charging if he can as he draws his shortspear.
Asheru stands goggled-eyed, not fully comprehending at first.
"But... you..."
Then, his face twists with rage and he points an accusing finger at Garrilk. "Insolent wretch, you dare threaten the life of a speaker for the dead?" He glares at each of the chiefson's companions. "Know this: Any who would shed my blood will call down the wrath of the ancestors!"
Agitated whispers and mutterings emanate from all around Asheru.
Not sure how far away Bonewright is - he's not great with stealth or perception, so imagining he is hiding in the initial thicket relying on distance to cloak him.
If within 110ft...
Bonewright tries to pick a bunch of Garrilk's band and casts sleep. Aiming for: further away (harder to wake up), still sleepy, clustered together in radius. If they are sleeping next to each other that could be perfect
He then stands up, tries to look imposing and holds his staff.
if further thsan that but within 440ft...
On Asheru's words a thick cloud of large black ravens boils out of Asheru and takes to the sky, swirling around him in a whirlwind of silent black feathers. (Silent image, five 10 foot cubes). Nosoi should know to go join the flock.
Otherwise I guess he closes.
Happy to post details when I know the range.
Tupilek had been hanging about 150' back, waiting to see if Asheru needed help. Hearing his shout about the ancestors, Tupilek urges Pikkuveli to run forward as fast as he can.
Though not fully understanding the complexities of the factions of these tribes, Wheatbeard intuited a grave betrayal was taking place. The turncoat event had emanations of his race's own conflict, though these men stank of deception and dishonor as opposed to his clansmen's greed and pride.
He could analyze the specifics later. For now, his ears heard the call to arms, so he ran to defend his hunting party.
Garrilk's henchman (whom Asheru and Moklik both know as Omerad, a particularly cruel, if not very bright, hunter) drew his bone dagger and made for Asheru, a leer of contempt crossing his face.
Asheru's words gave the brute a moment's pause, and when the cacophonous voices of the 'ancestors' erupted from the air, his footsteps faltered, and he looked back at Garrilk, unsure.
Garrilk spat with contempt. "The dead are dead. They can't hurt us" he sneered, drawing his own dagger - a blade of dull grey metal whose edges glinted in the sunrise. He took half a step forward before there was a whirring sound, and a flighted arrow zipped through the branches of the trees above them - Caedmon's shot gone wild.
At the same time, there was crashing from off to the side, as Moklik charged, loosing a dart from his atlatl to little effect, while readying his spear.
"S~%~!" roared Garrilk. "He's not alone! Damn and blast! Omerad, Sertis, with me. We'll teach these curs a lesson in respect. The rest of you grab the elf-b~*&$ and make for the meeting place."
Garrilk grabbed a bone axe from his belt and hurled it at Asheru, but his aim was put off as a silent cloud of night-black ravens bursts from the ground at the shaman's feet. Behind him, Sertis, a lanky-haired archer, readied his bow and drew a bead on the charging Moklik.
Tupilek spurs forward his mount, and Pikkuveli trudles forward towards the copse.