"Certanly, Lisabett."
Raziel step forward to give what help he can.
The other guardsman seems about to answer Sorin's question, but the paladin's sharp intake of breath halts his response.
You have just finished preparing the harnesses when Quoaral returns. Sandru follows just behind at a pace more befitting a snail than a caravan captain. He looks rather unwell.
"Last night..." he begins, putting a hand to his eyes. "Before the inn...I...I arranged for a pair of tradesmen to come this morning. We will unload some provisions, and be ready to depart this afternoon. Thank you for...arranging the...the harnesses."
He seems to waver for a moment, but your Shoanti companion is quick to put a hand at his back, steadying him.
Almar prepares to answer when he notices Sorin suddenly strange reaction. "Sorin? What did just happen?"
Then, puzzled, the gunslinger answers, with some circumspection:"I know he's a single man because I've been hunting him all the way from Alkenstar to this place. And I can tell it's him, because you could find scenes like this every two villages if you travel south. And after a while one learns to recognize the butcher's handywork. So ask your questions, I'll answer them... but I doubt it will help right now. This is fresh He must be near still. Better to check for traces, answers can come later I'd say"
So saying Almar starts examining the scene.
Survival check:
Sorin whips his glaive out, pointing it straight at Ulrick. "Don't move! Not an inch!" Sorin cannot keep the shock out of his voice. "Who are you? In my entire life, I have never felt such overwhelming evil before!"
Lisabett gives a nod, and finishes attending the beasts, then lifts what Sandru points to and puts it on display. When she has finished her portion of the work, she places her things in the back of a wagon, tucking the broken spearhead into the back of her pants, and carries only a few gold.
"It is time I replaced my spear," she says to no one in particular, and exits the warehouse.
"Wait up, Lisabett," Raziel says as he hurries after her. "The crowd didn't look too friendly today, so we should watch ourselves, and not go off alone."
'Not that I doubt your prowess,' he thinks, 'But with as rough as you are, you could incite problems that could have best been avoided...'
Setomi watches the other two leave as she continues to feed the animals. She sighs, and looks over to Sandru. "We are not too bad for provisions, but could always use a topping up. Should I venture into town to purchase anything, or maybe I should just stay here."
Ulrick smiles wickedly, looking upon Sorin for but a moment before turning his gaze to Almar. "Indeed, my friend." The voice that comes from the Ulfen is not his own. "Answers will come later."
In a graceful flourish, he moves backwards, ignoring Sorin's command. He begins to gesture with outstretched hands.
Initiative:
Almar -
Sorin -
Ulrick -
Outside the warehouse, tension still hangs in the air, but the accusatory eyes that seemed to find their way to you several minutes ago are not upon you now. The usual chatter so common to morning marketplaces is noticeably absent, as is the man who was beside himself with grief.
It takes little effort to find a weapon's stall. A portly man with a huge, dark mustache looks up at Lisabett's face, then down to her chest, then up into her eyes again. "And what can be done for you, lovely?" Several daggers are arrayed on a rack beside him, and a quarterstaff leans against the back of the stall.
Sandru's smile is not a comfortable one. "If I speak the truth, Setomi, I would have you here with me. The men that are due to come...I have not had dealings with, and I would welcome your company."
Hearing Ulrick's new voice, Almar doesn't think, doesn't take a step back, doesn't look surprised. His face shows no signs of emotion at all. He just extracts and fires at the man he used to call Ulrick.
Attack roll (deadeye grit power active, counts as a ranged touch attack):
Damage roll:
"I will stay then, if you have need of me. Who are these men?"
"Ulrick" -
Guardsman 1 -
Guardsman 2 -
Sandru sighs. "I would not tell Lisabett, nor would I dream of telling Almar, for outsiders cannot truly understand. That said, it would rankle our faithful as well." The Varisian captain leans up against the wagon for support. He is still struggling to get his bearings this morning. "I left the Sczarni years and years ago, but they have never truly left me. Family...favors...those things do not simply disappear..."
Is this actually Ulrick? Magical control? Shapeshifter?
Setomi looks over to the leader of their caravan, and while she thinks she should feel some sort of shock or surprise, she does not.
"We all have secrets Sandru. I would never judge a person by who they know. And if these men can assist us, so much the better. They sound a little like the stories my mother use to tell me of the Yakuza of our homeland."
Will save:
Almar slips into unconsciousness, as does one of the guardsmen. Sorin manages to shrug off the effect. The other guard is still on his feet as well, though he seems utterly confounded by the situation.
"And again, I make the mistake of underestimating you." Ulrick glowers at Sorin. His Ulfen features continue to shift towards something inhuman.
Almar
Ulrick
Sorin
Sandu looks over his shoulder, out the open door. He turns back to you. "I am not fond of dealing with them, but in this instance, it is an advantage. We will be rid of all but our own provisions come afternoon."
He pauses for a moment, searching your eyes. "I...Setomi, I must tell you...I did not drive this caravan north to sell goods. I had just returned from a lengthy trading expedition, and hoped to put my feet up for a month or two. But the discovery in the swamp...and how it affected Ameiko. I...you must know, I meant to journey to Brinewall Castle, only, you and Ameiko were not supposed to come. You have more than proven your capability, but her...if something were to befall her...I..." He chokes back a sob, then turns from you.
Lisbaett blinks as the shopkeep pays closer attention to the curve of her breasts than the scars on her face. Had he known there were scars there, too, likely he would not have looked at her at all.
"Need a hunting knife," she says shortly in the trading tongue. "And that stick there. I am rather clumsy on my feet in the dark."
"One like you should be off her feet in the dark, perhaps?" The merchant gives Lisabett a leering smile, then looks to Raziel. "Be assured, friend, it is a jest. I do not make myself your rival."
The merchant retrieves four daggers from where they hang nearby, then lays them out in a row on the counter between you. "Two gold coins, and you can have your pick from these. The staff, I will include as a gift, from me to you. Should you choose to buy, that is."
When did this "thing" replace Ulfrick? Sorin pushes away the thought that this "thing" has been with them since Sandpoint.
It occurs to Sorin that trying to solve riddles in the middle of combat isn't a good idea.
Lisabett licks her upper lip and sneaks a glance at Brother Holheim before answering. She had less interest in the priest than she did in the merchant, but she had been raised in a culture that valued hospitality, and she was not a local.
"If it please you, Master, I would not even cast to create my own," Lisabett teases with unusual personality.
Setomi looks at Sandu and says, "I understand your concern. That is why I am here, to help and watch over her. I am sure, between the two of us, we can keep her safe. Do not borrow sorrow from the future, is an old saying my mother taught me. Let us deal with it when, and if it comes. I think Ameiko has more strength in her than we give her credit for."
Stealth -
"Cease this!" The still-conscious guard has drawn his sword, but the quivering blade betrays the fact that he is trembling. "Weapons down! Do not move!"
Ulrick slides back, almost as if in a dance, out of the reach of Sorin's glaive. His hands move together in strange ways, and when his knuckle comes into his opposite palm, he vanishes from sight.
Round 2:
Guardsman 1
Almar
Guardsman 2
Ulrick
Sorin
The merchant does not reply but with a smile. After he is satisfied with the weight of the coins you have given him, he hands you a sturdy, oak quarterstaff, but leaves it to you to take the knife of your choosing.
Smiling, Sandru flicks something from his eye. "Few have seen me low as this, but you, Setomi, have seen me even lower. For this reason, I am not embarrassed. No, indeed, I am grateful to have you here. I am grateful for the frequent reminders of your skill and of your dedication to Ameiko." After a moment, he pulls a pair of leather gloves from his pouch and dawns them. "Now, let's get to business. Will you help me unload these crates?"
He begins hefting a heavy box, but seems to struggle on his own. "Oh...and...please, do not speak of this to Lisabett. I fear she may part with us, and I do not want that."
Raziel looks around the merchant's shop, playing off his comments with a smile.
'Lisabett and I? What a laugh that would be...' he thinks.
As Lisabett completes her purchase, Raziel asks, "Do you have any spears, good sir?"
Setomi nods in agreement with Sandru, then gets to work helping him move and shift the cargo, but she also keeps her eyes and ears open for the arrival of their prospective customers.
Not ever going to be a spellcaster himself, Sorin did not pay as much attention to the magic lessons during his training as he should have. Fortunately, there are a few that he remembers and this is one of them.
Sorin's glaive cannot find its foe.
Seemingly convinced that he, too, should attack the spellcaster, the guardsman moves forward and slashes at the air, near where Sorin did.
Surprisingly, the sword seems to connect. Though it does not cut deeply, the blade comes away with black, ichorous blood on its point.
"I shall see you again soon." The ominous voice seems to come from all around you. Its next words are a language you do not know. The silence that follows them seems sudden.
Round 3:
Guardsman 1
Almar
Guardsman 2
Ulrick
Sorin
"Spears! Yes! Of varying lengths." The merchant smiles, opening a cabinet behind him and revealing a few spears with long shafts, and a few that are clearly for throwing.
Between Sandru, Quoaral and yourself, you are able to unload all of the trade goods in short order. The men Sandru spoke of have still not come.
Leaning over the crates, you becomes aware of a faint odor. At first it seems to be nothing, but now that you have noticed it, you realize it is rather pungent. You trace it to a small, heavy box that you had hoisted from the wagon not a minute past. Whatever is within has almost certainly spoiled.
Sorin will use Detect Evil to see if there's any trace of "Ulrick" left. If he detects nothing, he'll try to wake Almar.
Sniffing, Setomi moves to the offending box and calls Sandru over. "Ummm...I think whatever was in this box has gone off. Eeewww!! What is it?", she asks, while holding her nose.
"Lisabett, you were looking for a spear, were you not?" Raziel asks her.
Lisabett levels her gaze at Brother Holheim. "Spears are for warriors," she dismisses, and touches her new dagger. "For swift killing of whatever we hunt, and skinning," then grips the quarterstaff, "for defense. But i will not dishonor the warriors of my lands by taking their weapons."
Raziel stares at Lisabett for a moment, and then breaks out with a hearty laugh.
"Not a warrior? You used a spear well enough before yours broke. And you have more than enough fire to be a warrior, and more."
Then Raziel's face becomes earnest. "I think you do your people more dishonor by not being all you can. We depend on you, and artificial modesty does not suit you at all."
Concentrating on the surrounding area, you still feel the resonating aura of the one you called "Ulrick," yet it is but his "footprint." He himself has seemingly gone.
Almar stirs at Sorin's touch, as does the slumbering guardsman when his comrade gives him a shake.
"Where did he go?" Having roused his fellow, the guardsman who fought be your side now fights to stay composed. He turns on his heel and brandishes his sword. "An explanation. We will have some explanation!"
"Words of fire." The shopkeeper comments, a spear in each hand. "Do either of you mean to buy one of these, or shall I store them again?"
Fortitude Save -
Sandru comes near you and sniffs the air. When he catches the scent, his face turns sour for a moment, then finds a smile. "Well, that's one thing we won't be selling. But the crate should be salvageable, I think." Not a minute later, Sandru has a crowbar in hand, and works to pry the box open. It does not take him long.
As he opens the lid, the overpowering smell of rotting meat fills your nostrils.
"Gods be good..." Sandru mutters under his breath before turning his head aside and vomiting.
The sight of the rotting head, and the sight and sounds of Sandru being sick almost push Setomi into loosing what little breakfast she had eaten. She staggers a few steps away from the crate, and Sandru; takes a few deep breaths she is able to steady herself.
"By the gods Sandru, how..I mean..who...why??" As she stumbles over her words, she looks around to make sure no one else is within the warehouse.
Brother Holheim does not know that there were thanes who would not blush to flay a woman who impersonated a warrior alive should she be unfortunate enough to cross their path, and witches were hunted with exceptional zeal by the specialized ranger force of the Black Ravens. These were truths Lisabett knew that she had yet to discern how to effectively communicate to her companions.
Still, arguing the point in the merchant's shop was useless.
"The longspear," Lisabett answers, nodding to the weapon. "I lost mine in a swamp. The head snapped against an enemy," she lies.
Almar jumps on his feet right the moment Sorin wakes him:"Where? Where did he go?!?!?!?!, a terrible rage burns in the gunslinger eyes as he searches for his enemy.
"You will explain! Now!" The guardsman with his sword drawn sounds desperate.
"Calm yourself, Eyer." The other rubs sleep from his eyes as he lifts himself from the ground. "We will take them in for questioning, have no doubt." The second guardsman comes to his feet, his eyes hardly moving from the pistol that Almar fired moments ago, though he looks to Sorin as he addresses you. "We'll need the two of you to come along with us, so we can sort out this mess."
"For you, I will part with it for a mere five gold, though if you mean to use it in your quarrel...it will cost you seven." The merchant lifts the butt of the longspear towards Lisabett. "Light, you'll find it. Wonderfully light, but sturdy."
Quoaral stands by, unflinching.
Sorin shrugs at Almar. "Gone. Likely on the wings of magic. To be honest, it's just as well; I do not believe I was his match."
Sorin frowns at the guards. "Very well, I will accompany you. But we are members of Sandru Vhiski's caravan. It's possible the rest of my comrades are in danger. We are staying at The Gnome's Nose and our wagons are in storage. I ask that messages be sent there warning them of possible danger. Is that agreeable?"
"I will never raise my spear against a companion," Lisabett answers, her tone clipped. She could not even begin to count what she had sacrificed by keeping Brother Holheim's secret from the remainder of the group.
Lisabett pays the merchant his gold, and turns to Brother Holheim. "Have you any more business? I thought to see if I could purchase inks for Ulrick to finish the shade on my leg. It has been too long since he has put ink to me."
Setomi whispers frantically to Sandru, "Your clients are just outside. You need to pull yourself together. Quoaral, if you would, please cover that box and move it to the furthest corner from us."
As the plainsman (hopefully) completes the task of removing the head, Setomi delves into her spice chest, and with a flick of her wrist, fling an aromatic concoction into the air, in hopes of removing some of the putrefying smell. She then turns and moves towards the warehouse door, to greet (and delay) those coming in.
"Perfectly agreeable, sir." The guardsman answers. "I am pleased to know that you have civility about you. It is rare this far from Magnimar." He looks back at Almar. "But while you are within Roderic's Cove and the surrounding area, I ask that your friend here not use his...device. Count yourself lucky that I haven't confiscated it. Now come along."
"Of course." The merchant smiles widely. "Thank you for your custom."
At the mention of inks, the man pipes up again. "I do not mean to eavesdrop, but if you seeks inks to mark the body, there is a man who sells such wares, not four stalls down." He indicates the direction with his finger, then raises a hand to the side of his mouth and continues in a hushed tone. "He will be well into his cups by this hour, and he never makes a coin...you will find a bargain there, I think."
Sandru nods and finds his balance. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and flicks at his hair. It seems to take more effort than does Quoaral's handling of the box containing the head. No sooner have you spoken the request than the Shoanti has complied. He sets it against the wall on the other side of the warehouse, and sits upon it.
A moment later, three Varisian men walk through the open door - the one at the rear shuts it behind him. The one in the lead is adorned in colorful silks, and a purple, patterned scarf dangles from his neck. Though the other two wear leather armor and swords as their hips, their scarves are no less vibrant.
The well-dressed man stops, and looks around, his gaze lingering on Sandru. "Is that...lilac?"
Setomi steps forward and bows deeply. "Welcome most honourable sirs. Master Sandru awaits you within. If you gentlemen would please follow me."
With that, Setomi turns and slowly, but gracefully, moves her way back towards Sandru, exaggerating her hip movements, in the hope of distracting the 3 new visitors.
"I have no more business currently, so we can get your inks,"Raziel replies. "Let us seek out the purveyor of inks for you."
You smell the ink vendor before you see him. The Shoanti man reeks of wine, and his deadened eyes stare past you even as you step in front of him. It is clear that at some time in this man's life, he was in the company of a skilled tattoo artist, as the intricate patterns that weave across his bald head and pocked cheeks were clearly made by one with great care for detail.
"He flew away? Just like that? DAMNATION!" for a moment Almar shakes with rage and it seems he could explode, then he calms down and regains his stoic composure:"Very well, lead the way, I'll answer your questions as much as I can"
The elder man's state tugs at what little seems to remain of Lisabett's heart this morning. She knew only a little about the Shoanti, that their culture was not so far from her own, and to witness the creature before them in such a state recalls a horrid tale about a thane allowed to go sour with drink.
"The one who put the lines to your head must have been beside you for many battles," she opens. "How do you come to be in such a state?"
[ooc]Lisabett Diplomacy
"He flew away? Just like that? DAMNATION!"
"To be more precise, he just vanished," Sorin mutters and then continues in an even lower voice. "Had that "thing" wanted us dead I fear we would be dead. I do not know why it led us there nor why it tried to subdue us rather than just killing us outright but there must be a reason."
Sorin walks the rest of the way in silence, trying to shake the ill-feeling at the ease with which of our own was replaced.
The two of you follow the guardsmen to a well-fortified building that looks like it was constructed in recent years. The wood that holds the brick together does not sag as do most other structures in town. No sign hangs over the door, but the two men standing sentry in front of it are as well-armored as those that have escorted you here.
"Lieutenant?" Both of the men guarding the door salute.
"Gillans, we were just attacked in the field by a wizard." The guardsman seems nearly as calm as he did when he was induced into magical sleep, despite the dire situation. "We've survived, but our attacker fled. He brought his spells to bear against these two as well, and are being brought in for questioning. Inform the Captain immediately."
"Immediately, sir." One of the door guards nods and ducks inside. The guardsmen who accompany you bid you to follow.
You come into a sparsely furnished front room, with a handful of men milling about. It is clear that you have sparked curiosity, but eyes turn away from you again quickly at the sound of metal greaves on the staircase. The man that wears them is adorned in full-plate mail, and wears a cloak with no sigil. The jewels encrusted in his longsword's hilt are dazzling, even in the modest light within the barracks.
"I'm Captain Maretti." The man's square jaw barely seems to move as he speaks. "And your names?"
"My brother is long dead, young one." Though the man speaks to you, his glassy eyes seem to take no notice of you. "And this state I have come to be in is the same as it is for any of my people who forsake the old ways in the name of coin, love, or other foolhardiness. Yet as I am a slave to this place now, and so a slave to coin, drink, and other foolhardiness. It is kind of you to ask, but kinder of you to buy. Yes?"
Lisabett struggles before the elder warrior, her heart laid bare before the thrall. Ice falls from her frosted eyes as mist spills from her lips. The only tales more harrowing than losing a trusted companion and ally are those of losing ones will to preserver in the harsh climate of the Land of the Linnorms. She counts out ten gold in stacks of twos and leaves them on the counter.
"Whatever this affords, slave."
Sorin bows slightly before the Captain, "My name is Sorin Nicusor, servant of Shelyn, recently from Sandpoint. My friend here is Almar Ashfield. We travel with the caravan of Sandru Vhiski, also out of Sandpoint. How may I be of service?"
"Sorin... I can talk for myself. My name is Almar Ashfield, a former Shieldmarshal, from Alkenstar. What else do you want to know?"
"Alkenstar." Captain Maretti bites his lower lip. "You're a long way from home." After a moment, he smiles, and begins to sing.
Perform (Sing) -
"Dust of Garund,
This dust of old Garund,
Nex and Geb,
And Geb and Nex,
Crumbled to dust,
This dust of old Garund."
That the man chose the career of a soldier rather than that of a minstrel seems fortunate, but he manages to carry the familiar tune.
"Do you have a fire-thrower, then?"
Some light at last comes into the man's eyes at the small stacks of golden coin. He hurriedly produces a wide assortment of inks from beneath the counter, then rakes your payment into his lap. He says not another word, nor acknowledges your departure.