"We have no particular reason to kill you," Annika says, her bow still drawn and an arrow notched. "If you'd like to die, I suppose that's an option, but there's hardly a call for it."
Wordlessly, Prophet releases his pent-up energy when the man goes for his sword, and he charges into the clearing, bringing his own weapon to bear on the foolish man.
Marcus just sighed. "I warned you, fellas."
He winced at the brutality of Prophet's attack. "It doesn't have to be this way."
Opening his mouth to speak but shutting it when Prophet charges. Are all half orcs like him? Sighing and standing up so he is in plain sight with his bow drawn and an arrow aimed at the one not being viciously attacked, "Marcus gave you a chance to change your ways and you refused. You are a stain on this place."
Gallidren fires on the bandits.
Above his mask, Creon frowns slightly.
Good.
Prophet erupts out of the tree cover with his sword held high, and the momentum of his charge carries through with his attack; he stops short and twists his feet in the dirt, the speed of his charge transferring into his blade along with the full weight of his muscle. The bandit goes down in a flash of red, before clutching at his chest while pushing himself away from the half-orc with his heels. His companion fares no better, with Gallidren and Creon's arrows both slamming into his chest. He stumbles back a few steps and grabs at one of the shafts, before dropping to his knees and collapsing onto his side. He coughs slowly, and the wheezing from his chest makes it clear one of his lungs is punctured. "F*ck, I yield! I yield! Don't... don't kill me," cries the bandit whom Prophet nearly eviscerated, "I'll do whatever you want, just don't kill us." His companion, barely conscious, nods along with him, his breathing still labored.
"Stand down!" Annika shouts. "I will not allow you to murder these men right in front of me."
Theodore yell at nearly the same time as Annika, "Stay you hand! That is enough."
Long strides bring him to downed men. Glaring down at them as he kneel with the intent to at least stanch the bleeding while they talk, "You were already given the chance to change which you refused. We are not required to give you anymore chances. What do you have to buy your lives with?"
Prophet shoots a feral glare over his shoulder at the pair of half-elves telling him to stop, and for a moment his body remains all taut muscle, ready to strike. Finally, though, he snarls, shakes his head, and spins, plunging his sword deep into the ground as he stamps away. "Fi͠ńe̸. ̴Bu͢t͞ d̡o͟n'͢ţ ̢còm̧e͜ ͡c̡r͏y̴in͟ǵ ̕ẃh̷en ͢yo̴ur ͘s̷o-͞caļled p̛e̢ace f͢in̡a͟lļy ͠get҉s ͘t̕he ҉b̵est ̡of͠ yo̶u,͢ ͜lu̷lgija҉k̡.́"
With that, the half-orc paces back toward the brush, where he runs his hands through his hair once, then drops down to sit cross-legged on the ground. He looks almost like he's meditating, except that he's breathing much too heavily--almost snorting.
As Theo examines their wounds, he manages barely to staunch the wounds on the man Prophet nearly cut in twain, but the other bandit felled by arrows continues to bleed out onto the ground. The first bandit's breathing is shallow, but Theo manages to dress the wound and keep him from bleeding out. The other, arrows still protruding from his chest, grasps feebly at the shaft of one of the arrows again, before attempting to pull it from his chest; his hand slides weakly up the length of the shaft, no grip on it to speak of, before his arm collapses back into the dirt. However, for the time being the man is still alive.
"What do I... look, you're gonna... you wanna kill the Stag Lord, right? That's the whole plan? Save us, save our lives... we'll get you into the fort. We've got guard duty, y'know; we'll make sure you get past the gates so you've got a shot at 'im. That gate's the only way in, some old cult used to live where we built up the fort and there's a bunch'a f*ckin' zombies buried in the hills." The bandit scoots back farther, and gives a sharp intake of breath as he moves in a way that stretches his damaged muscle. "We'll get you in, assumin' he don't execute us for screwin' this up."
"Oh, come on. What, do you think I'm an idiot? You think I'm just going to march you up to the gates, let you on into the place where you're safest, and expect you not to tell the Stag Lord all about what happened?" Marcus looked incredulous.
"Look, I ain't got no beef with you, but this crew? They work for the townsfolk you've been robbing. What did you think was going to happen? They'd all just roll over and let you take what you wanted, forever?"
Markus took a knee next to the wounded bandit. "What did you want to do with your life before you took up with the Stag Lord and his crew?"
"I'm not f*ckin' with you, Marcus! I'll get you in there! Either you'll kill the bastard and I won't have t'deal with 'im, or he'll slaughter you all. I ain't got nothin' t'lose," he starts, before Marcus takes a knee next to him. He stammers for a moment, confused by the question, shaking his head as he thinks. "I... look, I don't know. I didn't wanna go 'round extortin' people for money, but I ain't really got a lot of choice. My pop was a farmer, guess I would'a taken up that trade at some point or somethin'? It don't matter now, farm's long gone. That's why I'm here."
Staying next to the man with the arrows in him. Forcing a calm into his voice, "That is not true. You have a lot to lose. Your life is one. A peaceful afterlife is another. The Gods who would give you that tend not to be very forgiving of those who prey on the weak simply because they thing they have no choice."
Not bothering to look up from his task, "Instead you can do the right thing and try to clear your ledger. To build a good life for yourself if you cannot be motivated by the needs of others."
"You might not have anything to lose, but we sure as hell do." Markus said, thinking.
"The way I see it, you got more to offer as legit service than you think. This crew's looking to build something around here. There's talk of communities working together, supplies coming in, carving out something good outta this forsaken place. Those supplies? They're prime targets for highwaymen. Who better to protect 'em than reformed highwaymen? You know weapons, the land, the tactics."
"By the time the Stag Lord's waiting in line for the Lady of Graves and there ain't so much need for protection on the roads, you'll have enough gold to buy yourself a farm and settle."
"Only thing you gotta do is pick a new name and let your old life die here. Killed by a werewolf."
"I find it somewhat disconcerting that a reforming bandit is a far more reasonable and sane ally than the people who the lords of Restov trusted with this duty in the first place..." Annika mutters. "But Marcus speaks the truth. It is not too late for you to make an honest life out here. We seek to bring order and civilization to the Greenbelt, but that doesn't mean you and those like you have no place in it."
Gallidren helps Theo treat the wounded. "Tell us everything you know about the Stag Lord and his fort. How many men does he have? How can we enter undetected? Be honest and prove that you wish redemption. Lie and you may choose your fate of rope or sword."
Prophet eyes the bandit sharply when he starts talking about his past hopes and desires, the way Marcus speaks with him, and then lets out a chuckle at Annika's comment. "You'd be surprised, lady," he says, walking back over to his sword. He wrenches it from the ground and carefully begins picking and scraping off the dirt. "As far as the Stag Lord, he's gotta be better protected than some meathead lowlife can get us in. Just admit you got nothing, beg for your life. The knife-ears are sure to spare it, and I'll be more inclined to let them if I hear some whimpering. Your buddy's got the right idea--turn in, lie low, and move on. That's the best way to get out of what you're doing right now."
"No no, look! I can... I could get you in the fort. Once you're in, it'd be up to you t'do the rest, but... I could get you through the gates." He coughs a few times, clutching at his chest as the movement aggravates his wounds. He looks over at Theo, as he manages to pry the arrow's from the other man's chest and stabilize him. "There's no way into that fort without someone knowin' you came in, unless you think you're gonna sneak past his zombie guard dogs on the hill and climb over the walls. But, if you had someone who could get you through the gate, you could get a whole group through 'fore anyone knew what was happenin'. You'd need 'em, too; there's at least four dozen men in the fort, plus the Stag Lord and his lieutenants... plus the f*cker's 'pet' owlbear, if you could call it that." The man shakes his head, his breathing slowly steadying. "I don't care how good this lot is, they ain't gonna be able to cut down nearly fifty men and kill the Stag Lord, all by themselves." The bandit gulps, before he speaks to Marcus again, his tone hushed.
"Marcus, he ain't just lookin' to be some kinda bandit lord, okay? He's... I overheard 'im talkin' to that old man, the one he keeps locked up underground? I heard 'im talkin' about somethin' when I was fetchin' supplies... somethin' about a pact the old man made or somethin', long time ago. I don't know what it meant, but it ain't nothin' good."
"What, that naked guy under the grating?" Marcus said with a disgusted laugh. "If that guy made some sort of deal, it sure didn't turn out well for 'im."
"Look, we're going to patch you up and make sure your partner doesn't die. When he can talk too, we'll continue this discussion."
Marcus looked over at Theo too. "Can you check on the guy there with the septic wound? He looks like he's probably a goner, but Me might want to put him out of his misery. Seems like a wound shouldn't go bad as fast as it did, and there's those stories about people bit by werewolves becoming werewolves, you know?"
Nodding and as soon as he is done with the one he is working on then Theo moves to the other man.
Gallidren nods as the bandit begins providing information. "Keep going - how do we get past the guards? Can you help us?"
"I mean, I can get you past the guards; you're past them once you're through the gates. The Stag Lord's got enough men that we don't all know each other on sight, so they won't know you ain't with 'em. You could pretend to be from Cragger's band, like I am... err, was. We'd need a few more people to sell the bit, though." He nods as Marcus suggests they continue this line of thought once his companions are conscious. The human pincushion appears to be recovering against a tree, and Theo does his best to clean and bandage the other bandit's wound. While still unconscious, the man's breathing seems less labored, and the wound has certainly begun to look better. Still, he notices the same strange, black substance clinging to the man's wounds, although it doesn't inhibit his ability to treat the wound without magic. "Still, it's once you're inside that'll be the problem. You'd want more people t'pick a fight in that fort. That, or you'd need a way to clear 'em out before you assaulted the place."
Gallidren smiles wryly at the bandit. "If its not already abundantly clear - we don't trust you, bandit. What's to say you don't just turn us over? What if they start asking questions we can't answer? I don't like the 'walk right in' plan. Is there not some way we can sneak in? Clearly we don't have the numbers for a direct assault."
"We don't want to assault that fort anyway. What we want to do is shake up operations. We kill or capture his forces in as many different places as possible. He'll have to send people out to find them, and to replace who he's lost. We bleed him and spread him thin. Then, when he's ragged, we destroy his supplies at the fort. I know where they are and how to get in."
"A few days without food or drink and his people will be in open rebellion. There will be deserters, not enough people to man the walls."
"That's when we hit him direct."
Prophet finally stops brooding and laughs openly, although the mixed tone of mirth and beastly ferocity are a tad disconcerting. "I like the way you think, Marcus. Weaken them before we strike." He finishes cleaning his blade and slides it back into its scabbard. "So now what? We keep these layabouts with us, or leave 'em here while we keep hunting?"
"We leave 'em here, we'll never see 'em again."
"I ain't in any shape t'run, but we'll follow you if'n it means you won't kill us." The bandit breathes heavily, but seems to be recovering from the shock of Prophet's blow. "Look, there isn't any other way into that fort. Like I said, some old cult used to shack up in that rottin' old fortress, and their handiwork is still hauntin' the hills around it. You'd have to go in the front gate, if you want in at all." As Marcus mentions disrupting things like supply lines, the bandit's eyebrows arch. "If you could get 'im to send out men in order t'bleed 'im dry, that might work. The Stag Lord's a bloody drunk; if you cut off 'is supply of booze, I'd bet he'll send some bandits out to 'fix t'problem', if you understand my meaning." He slowly sits up, leaning with his back against his pack. "I think he's got some business with a hermit up in the northeast? I couldn't tell ya, though." He coughs again, but seems more at ease. "Look, I threw in my lot with the Stag Lord 'cause the bastard was bigger an' badder than anyone else. If you take 'im down, you're the meanest people in the Greenbelt. I'm not dumb enough to take you on."
"I knew he was a drinker, but I didn't know much 'bout his supply lines. That bit 'a intel just bought you a little favor. With me, leastways. Not so sure 'bout Prophet or Creon here, but every little bit helps."
"This hermit, he a distiller? Wine-maker? You got a name, or a better idea of where he's at?"
"No, it ain't about the Stag Lord's drink; he's been havin' people snatch it from that Trading Post the past couple weeks... 'course, somethin' tells me you lot might've done something about that. The hermit... I think he's been known to brew potions for the few people who could visit 'im. I don't know much more than that, sorry."
"Well, I suppose we're going to have to be ready for the Stag Lord to try to come after the Trading Post again then. And for something as foolish as alcohol..." Annika sighs deeply. "I'm almost tempted to send him some booze ourselves. If he's drunk, he'd be easier to fight."
"Not drunk. Sick. It ain't hard to taint beer or wine. Bet the fort would hall a whole lot easier if all the Stag Lord's boys had dysentery." Marcus mused.
Keeping himself busy with the last mans injuries and out of the bulk of the conversation. Silence is a better way to learn anyways. He seems a true monster from what I have heard thus far. Should he even be given the option? Would someone like that even take it?
Shaking his head, No all souls should have the chance to redeme themselves.
Lifting his head to stare at Marcus's after his last comment. He wants to poison a man... Well a really bad man who has done worse..
Sighing deeply before deciding to join the conversation, "I have heard a lot about the Stag Lord being a bloody drunk and being violent. Does no one know anything else about him?"
"No one knows a damned thing about the man, unless you count that he's a damned maniac," the bandit says, shaking his head. "No one even knows what he looks like under that stag helmet, either; if he ever takes it off, it's certainly not while anyone's around. I've heard a lot of rumors about him not having a head under the damned thing or he's some kind of demon, but I think it's just about power... and it works. Other'n that, I know he fights like a man possessed. Even when he's plastered, he could probably take on three normal men at once without trouble, and he swings that greatsword around like a f*ckin' toothpick." The bandit stops, realizing he isn't really getting to his point. "That ain't what you wanna know, though. Thing is, nobody does. He showed up a while ago and killed half the bandit leaders who lived out here and recruited the rest out of fear. Where he's from, who he used to be... nobody knows."
[i]Well isn't that just wonderful.[i] Theodore's lips twist further into a deep scowl, "That is unfortunate. Do you happen to know what he is like sober?"
Creon quietly recovers his arrow from the injured bandit.
"Observation: it sounds like we should visit this hermit."
He pauses, his eyelids flickering, a half-remembered fragment of another life.
"It's trapped down there. The godsthing. In the city. This is our chance. Burn it out, from space."
Cadmus lunges towards him.
"You can't! You've no right! This is not our ..."
He dodges out of Cadmus' reach. And pushes the button.
"Recommendation: We should fire all these camps, from a distance. Cut them down as they flee. Send more alcohol rather than less. Then fire the stores. Burn them out."
He pauses again.
"Reminder: This wolf creature. Which way did it go?"
"We can look for this hermit once we've killed the werewolf," Annika interjects. "Let's take things one step at a time."
"I've never seen 'im sober, so I couldn't tell you. I might've seen 'im less drunk than usual once or twice, but never without anything in his body. That's unheard of." The bandit thinks for a second as Creon asks his question. "Where'd the--I mean, I think.... I wanna say it and those fellas with it headed northeast from where we were, y'know? Farther outside of town. I couldn't tell you where exactly, but I'd guess they were headin' for its den."
There is no way I am just going to agree to that. Nodding, "One problem at a time."
"We still got the problem of what t' do with you two right now. Ain't got time to take you back to town. Can't just tie you up an' leave you here." Marcus ran a hand over his stubbly head. "How 'bout this? You work for me. I'll pay you ten gold each as hired hands for the length of this hunt. Half up front. You earn your keep and build up some trust, and when this is all over, assuming we survive, we'll have more work for you."
"What do you say?"
Gallidren looks suspiciously at the bandits. "Take their weapons and release them into the wild. Why are we wasting our breath on these miserable vermin?"
Gallidren nods at Annika. Let's be done with this werewolf so we can focus on why we're here - ending banditry in the Greenbelt."
"Adding them to the work detail at the Trading Post once we get back would be the best option. That way they can't run off an spout off anything about us to anyone they run in to. Better to keep them where we can see them for now."
Glaring at Gallidren, "Taking their weapons and leaving them in the woods would worse then just putting them to the sword."
"So why not just do that?" Prophet glares down at the bandits, then glances at Theodore. "Just a suggestion. I get where you're coming from, Marcus, but I'd rather not worry about a couple bandits who're probably pissed at me while I'm already hunting a werewolf that's definitely pissed at me. Ya ken?"
The bandits do their best to scoot away from Gallidren and Prophet as they advocate for leaving them for the wolves. "I'm not lookin' to run, not if you lot are gonna come knockin'. Look, it's gettin' dark. You could just, y'know, tie us up for the night or somethin'? Set a guard, you know. Figure out what to do in the mornin', maybe?" The man's voice seems worried, and he seems to almost shrink from the rest of you. "I like Marcus's idea, personally, but I'd do hard labor if it means y'don't gut me like a pig."
"Are we resting for the night? Or are we hunting?" Marcus asked the rest of the group.
"If anything, the wolf will be more active at night. A rest may do us some good, but we need to set a watch to keep a look out for the beast. And to keep an eye on the prisoners."
Gallidren sighs at Theodore. "They're your responsibility then."
He then nods at Annika. "I will take the first watch."
Sighing at Gallidren's needless comment, "Even though I am not the only one interested in giving these men a chance to right their wrongs I am more than willing to take on the responsibility."
Reaching into his backpack to find rope before speaking again, "I will take the last watch."
As Theo grabs for the rope, the two living bandits offer up their hands to be bound, and plop themselves down by a tree at the edge of the clearing, not far from the campfire they'd made before you arrived. As for their less conscious companion, his breathing now seems fairly regular and even, not the sharp gasps he displayed before. Still, he's completely unconscious, and tying him up seems like it might do more harm to the man than good. "I'd leave him, personally," Kilarra remarks, having stayed silent most of the night. "Tying him up could aggravate his wounds while he sleeps, and if he does wake up someone'll be on watch. Speaking of which, I'll take whatever shift is needed. Just wake me up."