"Given your situation, one cannot fault you for a short temper. Water under the bridge, my friend. Now, as for strategy.... The plan is to meet them with the gates open, hide and wait for them to enter? I can't say I completely like it, but I will abide. Perhaps I should wait just inside the gates, off to the right there. I'll hide behind the gate and come out when combat begins. And I must insist, when their ranks start falling, I wish to offer them the chance to surrender. "
"By all means." The half-orc turns to Theodore and smiles. "After all, if we don't let some of them live to tell the others, how will word get out that this trading post is off-limits?"
"You're a fairly pragmatic sort of fellow, aren't you? Still, I see your point. Not to mention that it would be cruel to kill men that have already surrendered."
Prophet gives Annika a toothy grin that isn't very jovial. "Now you're getting it."
After more carefully surveying the battlefield, Theodore reconsiders his positon. "No.... No, perhaps instead, with our gracious hosts safely hidden away, I will greet these ruffians head on, by your side, Prophet. I've fought alongside a wildman before, I'm sure we'll give them a good reason to put their backs to this place and never return!"
Prophet lets out a low chuckle at Theodore's comment. "I'm no wildman, not quite that mad when it comes to combat. Not likely to take a swing at my allies or anything like that. Just tend to have a slightly more... boisterous? Personality." He scratches his neck and gives a shrug. "Call it a battle technique I honed back home. Inviting the spirits of the great warriors to fill me with strength."
After a long night's rest, Oleg bangs on the door to the guest lodgings, and hollers through the door. "Svetlana's made y'all some breakfast," he says as he opens the door. "I'll be openin' the gates here soon, they'll probably be here in a few hours." Oleg has a crossbow slung across his back, carrying it awkwardly. He wears an old leather helmet and cuirass, but is otherwise still unarmored. "I know you folks'll be doin' most of the fighting, but I figured better safe than an arrow in the cut." Satisfied with seeing the party beginning to wake, he makes a move to leave the guest house. "Breakfast's in the dining room, she'll have it out for ya."
With that he leaves, and you can all clearly hear the sound of the gates grinding open a moment later. The sun is up and shining though your windows, a beautiful day despite the dirty work that will likely be done within a few hour's time.
Theodore wakes up and stretches. Quaint accomodations, not quite what I'm used to. Comfortable enough I suppose. Heh, be prepared Theo, it is sure to get a lot rougher than this. Most nights to come, I probably won't even have a bed. He walks outside with the wonderful thought of breakfast in his mind. As he moves towards the dining hall, he glances over at Oleg and his equipment, and his own thoughts turn to the battle to come. I just wish bloodshed wasn't our first resort. I know that sometimes it is necessary, but can these men really not be reasoned with? He lets out a sigh. Sarenrae, guide me. If I cannot reach them with reason, then allow me to grant them a quick and merciful end. He continues in and sits at the table, and eyes the food hungrily. This looks like a wonderful way to start the day. OH! But first, the Dawnflower... He closes his eyes and raises his hands in prayer. "This day, as every other, I dedicate to Sarenrae. I vow to redeem the ignorant with my words and my actions. I swear to spread your Healing Light to all in need. I will provide hope for the weak and support for the righteous. I will protect my allies with my life. They are my light and my strength, as I am their light and their strength. We rise together. I will not abide evil, and will combat it with steel when words are not enough. I do not flinch from my faith, and do not fear embarrassment. My soul cannot be bought for all the stars in the sky. Each day is another step toward perfection. I will not turn back into the dark." He smiles, feeling the renewed vigor that comes with true conviction. "Now, let's eat!"
As soon as Kayrel hear's that breakfast is on the table. He jumped out of bed gets all his equipment runs down to the food table and just start's scarfing down the food be for anyone even gets down not even paying attention to anyone or anything else around him just grunting and eating and drinking water to wash down the food. Theodore walks in to the room and Kayrel look's up at him grunts and nod's with food hanging out of his mouth.
When Eran hears the sounds of life from below him he gets op from his makeshift lookout post in the tower of the encampment's walls and stretches to relieve his muscles. Giving one last look at the area surrounding the encampment he goes over his actions from the night before. Well it doesn't look like the bandits suspect anything, well, at least not enough to send anyone to look around at night. Now, am I set to go? arrows, check; 4 bear traps, check; tripwire, check; getaway rope, check; bow's good, and sword's set. Well, I wish I could have done a bit more but it's not to bad for half a day of prep time. Now... breakfast! Eran moves over to the ladder down the ramparts and slides down to make his way over to where the smell of food is coming from.
Annika wakes with the sunrise, climbing quietly from her bed and preparing her gear for the day, going over each piece of armor and each weapon carefully before dressing. Satisfied, she slips outside finding a comfortable place to work and begins to sharpen her Aldori Dueling Sword on her familiar whetstone. As she works, she begins to sing softly in Elven, her voice gently filling the courtyard as she word. "Eternal Rose, guide me in my days. Fill my eyes with beauty and allow me to protect those that are without. And may your grace grant my arm the strength to defy those that would rob these innocents of peace."
She snaps out of her near trance as Oleg bangs on the bunkhouse doors nearby, waking most of the others. "Thank you," she says simply, checking her sword one last time before sheathing it at her customary place on her hip. She follows Theodore to the main room and takes a seat. She bows her head respectfully as he offers prayers to his goddess. "May the Eternal Rose, the Dawnflower, and all gods that stand for righteousness guide us this day," she adds to his sermon. "Now let's eat our fill." She digs into breakfast quickly, but tries to maintain a bit of poise, attenpting to look cultured and calm though it seems forced to someone with a noble's court manners.
Prophet rises a little after the others, only waving his hand and grunting when Oleg visits in. He finally gets up a few minutes later and does some stretching in the bunkhouse, cracking his joints and yawning heavily. He dons his equipment and throws his sword baldric over his shoulders, then makes his way to the dining room for food.
The half-orc enters as Theodore's prayer comes to an end, and oddly enough, he bows his head slightly and pauses until he finishes. After Annika adds her piece, he nods. "Indeed, all the gods of righteousness, and also Gorum, the Lord in Iron. His blessing we ask most of all, for he cares not about righteousness or wickedness, penitence or greed." Prophet steps forward as he speaks, moving to an open seat and standing behind it. "No, he cares only for strength--strength of body, strength of drive. The strength to take what you desire, and keep it. To impose your will on the world around you, to fight and hold fast before danger and adversity. That is what Gorum stands for, and that is what we need today--for our enemies seek the same. And whichever of us claims it more will live out the fight and reap the fruits of the future."
He takes a seat and grabs a piece of fruit, taking a large bite and chewing eagerly. "Of course, if you're fighting for the right side, so much the better, eh?"
Eran enters the main room as Prophet finishes speaking and makes his way over to the table. Before eating Eran holds his knife with the tip pressing slightly into the table and both hands resting on the handle, and speaks softly in order to not disturb the others who have begun eating. Thank Arastil for the food on our table and the friends at our side, and may today's hunt be successful. after speaking Eran taps his knife lightly against the table then lifts his head and proceeds to dig into his meal.
As morning prayers are said, Svetlana brings out more honeyed bread along pitchers of milk and water. "I hope you all enjoy your breakfast. Did you... did you all sleep well?" While eager to please, Svetlana seems unnerved by the fact that a fight is soon to break out in her courtyard. "I mean... is it difficult to sleep before...? I wouldn't know." After a moment, she takes her own place at the table and begins to eat. Moving her food about on the table, she looks again around to the party. "Please do keep Oleg safe for me. The man is dead set on helping you all, but... don't let him get hurt."
Prophet smiles to the woman and shakes his head. "I'm surprised that you ask, Missus Leveton. But then, you've been worried by these bandits for some time." He takes a sip of his drink before continuing. "I've done some hard living out here on the frontier. Had to do some things I didn't like doing. Had to do some things I'm ashamed to admit I did enjoy. And some that were hard, but enjoyable for it. Can't make a scrambled mess for breakfast without breaking eggs, but it sure is tasty, right?"
He muses over some chewing for a few moments, then swallows. "Point is, if I couldn't sleep because of the threat of violence, I'd be a very tired fellow. Growing up in the Hold saw to that." He finishes his plate and stands up. "And I promise I'll do everything I can to insure his safety. If things go according to plan, the bandits will focus on us, and hopefully the mad orc-man swinging a huge-ass sword will draw more attention than your husband."
After a few minutes, Oleg walks in to the dining room, plopping down heavily into his seat at the table. "They'll come when they come, lads. The gates'r open." He eats his breakfast quickly, although he certainly seems more animated than Svetlana. "I take it yer fellows'r still wakin' themselves up? Just... tell me where I oughta be before the fightin' starts. I'll do what I can."
After a moment, the older man pipes up again. "If it ain't too much trouble, there's a more personal favor I'd ask of ya'll. First time they came, that b*tch with the axe stole my Svetlana's wedding ring--"
"Oh, it's really not so horrid! Please Oleg, don't have them risk their lives for a ring--" Svetalan begins, even if her face looked pained at the loss of her ring.
"--I know it pains ya! And I'm gonna get it back, even if I have to pay these folk to do it instead'a gettin' it myself. I don't know if she's still got it, but that Happs fellow'd probably know. Seems to be her second, and her lap dog."
Annika nods to the man, surprised by his sudden deference. "A wedding band is a sacred sign of your love. Of course we will do our best to recover it for you." She feels a little better about the man, having seen him willing to beg for is wife's happiness. "These bandits will be defeated by the end of the day and they will return everything we can to you."
Theodore listens to the prayers of his compatriots with a smile on his face. We are a diverse group, aren't we? But here we are, coming together for a common goal. He finishes his meal and wipes his face, and tries to look stern. "I've always thought a wedding ring to be but a symbol. Nice, yes, but I'm sure your love goes far deeper than some shiny trinket. With or without it, you are still married." Theo takes the hand of each of his hosts for a moment. Then he puts their hands in eachothers, stands, adjusts his armour, and puts on his warmest smile. "That said, after a meal like that, retreiving your trinket is the least I can do! I promise, kind hosts, to do everything in my power to see the ring returned to you. These fiends will be here any time now, yes? Let's get out there and give them a warm welcome."
"Aye, let's." Oleg stands up from the table, placing his hands on Svetlana's shoulders. "Stay in the stock room. You'll be safe there." With that, the man walks out the door, slowly climbing the ladder up onto Eran's sniper tower. Svetlana stands up herself shortly after. She once again mutters her thanks as she moves farther back into the house, seeking sanctuary from the impending bandits.
-----
True to form, after a few hours it seems that Happs and his band have shown up, all on horseback. Sporting larger numbers than expected, a group of a dozen bandits, in addition to Happs himself, trot through the opened gates to the trading post. Armored in leathers, the man rides with a longbow in one hand, a quiver full of arrows at his shoulder. While three of the other bandits carry short bows, none handle it with the same intimacy as Happs does. The rest carry maces and longswords, wooden shields slung across their backs.
"What's all 'dis about, then?" Happs asks with a grunt, seeing Theo and Prophet standing in place of the Levetons. "'Ave the poor folks gotten a big of hired 'elp? Whatever they're payin' ya, the Stag Lord'll double it if'n ya let us clean out their stock." As Happs talks, his fingers twitch along the shaft of his longbow, a hand reaching up to pull an arrow from the quiver. "Course, I could also jes' put an arrow through your gut and take it."
After breakfast, Prophet gather his belongings from the bunkhouse and readies himself for battle. First he dons his chain shirt, along with a few rough leather guards for his forearms and shins, and a few other accouterments. He grabs his bag as well and moves for the storage house, where he sits inside the door and kneels down.
After about six minutes of this, Prophet closes his eyes and reaches back into the bag. From within the leather he draws six candles, all of which look as though they've been burned before, and all of different lengths. Still with his eyes closed, he takes each candle and sets it on the sword's blade, evenly spaced from hilt to tip. He then reaches back into the bag and draws a flint and a stick of incense. Holding them together, his song turns from a hum to a chant, almost a murmur at first, but growing louder with each time he scrapes the flint and incense against the blade of his sword. After running it along the blade six times, he raises the flint and incense above his head and opens his eyes. Even in the dim light, it's easy to see that his iris and pupils have rolled back, leaving a milky white between his eyelids.
Bringing the incense back down again, he strikes the flint hard against the sword, scraping sparks into the air and catching the incense aflame. It burns brightly for a moment, and in that time he sweeps it across the candles, his chant dying back down to a low but quick murmur. Each of the candles lights in turn, his hand unerringly drawing the stick of bittersweet incense across the wicks, and then he sets the incense upright between the innermost candles, at the center of the blade. Despite the thin, rounded end of the stick, the incense stands on its won as he draws his hands back. Falling back into a simple kneeling position, Prophet folds his hands and waits for the call.
After the hour is nearly up, he hears it. M͠a͘l͞à̴̢z̴͘ ҉҉T́͜͠ą̸rn͘.̷͡ ̡́It͟ ͘h͡a̧s̵ ͟͢b̷e̴͞e͘n̵ ̵m̡҉á̶̧n̸y̶̴͏ ̶d̨̢a̧͟y͞͏̨s͜ ̷͟͠s̀i̷̡n͝҉ce͏͢ las̡t͜ ̀I̴ ̴ḩ́e̸̢a̢͜r̷̨͟d҉ ̧́y̡͡͝o̴̢͟u̡͘r̷̡ c͘̕͜al̕͢ļ̶́. ̸̧Y҉o͘u͢ ̡h̨a͟v̀͘e̴͜ ̡̛͟sh̶͘͢am̶̷̢e̸͘d͞ ̷͟ḿ͞è́,͜ ̶c̷͘hí̢͝ĺd̕.̧͢ The voice is ancient, impossibly timeless for an orc, raspy and strong, deep and everywhere.
Not at all, Kordatar, Prophet replies in his mind. For every great warrior knows there is a time for battle, and a time for peace. Ambor mabas lufut--liquor after war. The time for rest was upon me. Now it is the time for battle and blood.
S͝҉o͏ ͜ýo͞͠u̕ ̶͢c̴a͘͡l͡l͞ ̶o͝͏n̸ m͢e̕ ̧͡n͏͡ow͜.̴̧͢ The voice sounds pleased, in its way--as a berserker is pleased to hear his enemy's bones snap, as a wild animal is pleased to rend and tear the flesh it consumes. W͏į̸̀s̨̕e,̷̨ ̸̶͡ch̡i̢͠ld̶ ̶́͘ò̸̵f ͠͏M̵à͏n̷͢.̡̨ ͟͡͠M͞y͠͏ ̢͘͏str̵̶e̴͜n̨gth͠ ͏f̧̨l͏͝ơ̸w̴̷̨s̨͏ ̕͝ţ̛͜h҉r͢o͝u͝͞g͠h́͜͡ ̧͜a̶̧l͢͠l̵͏͝ ͘͞o̶͠r̸c v҉e͡i̶͠n̶s̵̡,̧ ҉̷bu̧҉t̀̀͘ ̛́f͟o̢͟͞r͠ ͡͞ý̷͜ơ͘͘u͡, ̴͠i̧t̡̕ ̨̀wi̧̢ll̷ ̡̕f̵͞l͠o̷w҉̵ ́t͏̶h̸ro̷҉ù͞g̀ḩ͞ ́̀͢t̷̵h̛̕͞e͢ ̸s̀ṕį̨r̴̨͠i̕t͘,̴̢ ̷̴a͝s̶ ͞w̴̶͘el̶l͘.
So you will aid me this day?
A͟s͢҉̕hd̶͜͞a̛ú͜t͞a͜ş̧̕ ̶̛V̴̧r̷a͞s͝ub̸͠at́͟l̨a̧̕ Someday I will kill you. A common Orcish greeting.
Nar Udautas. Not today. The reply.
After the seance ends, Prophet opens his eyes once more, and they have returned to their normal appearance. He calmly lifts the sword and tilts the blade, and the candles flicker out as they slide down into his waiting bag. He kicks the blocks in as well, then kicks the whole container to one side of the storage house. He turns to Theo, who sees that Prophet's tattoos have changed color, now appearing to be running rivulets of fresh blood tracing lines across his skin. The half-orc grins, and there is something predatory in his smile.
"M̢i͘rd̀auta̕s͞ v̵r̶as̕," he says, and his voice is different now--deeper, rougher, and somehow older. It has the tones of men who have seen hundreds of battles, who have stood through them all and proven themselves greater than their enemies. "It is a good day to kill."
Prophet fights the urge to charge into battle, suppressing the spirit of wrath and vigor that surges through him. Instead, he lets his greatsword hang idle at his side, loose in his grip, and shakes his head. "Y͡o͢u͢ ͝mistake͜, fe͡llo͝w. ́Ẁe̢'re ̕o̵nĺy͝ ͠p͘as̶s͏in҉g th͘rou͘g̛h, ҉d̷o͠n'̨t ̕w̢an̡t͡ tro͠ub͝l҉e.̨H͞elp͠ ҉y̢oưrse̵l̶v͞ȩs." He steps to the side and gestures at the stores. "We ͢w̶ere҉ ̀si͜m̷ply in͠s͡pe̴c҉t̨in̸g ̨t́hei̴r ̀wàr̡es̵."
"Wot, you think I'm some sort'o moron? Stupid orcish bastard. Who's payin' ye coin for this, aye? Oleg ain't got sh*t to give, 'cept maybe 'is wife." Happs eyes Theo for a moment, his bow drawn and pointed for the Paladin's throat. "And this fancy f*cker 'ere, looks real regal like. You lot the ones from Restov, then? Poor f*cks." Happs looks back to the rest of his men, clearly sitting at attention in their saddles.
"I'mma give you one chance, right? You leave, never come back. Run with ya tail between your legs, and I won't pin it to yer arse." While clearly trying to sound frightening, the man doesn't have much practice antagonizing those who might actually fight back. His aim doesn't waiver, but you catch him gulp once slightly.
Theo smiles, but attempts to hide it. He's going to enjoy this more than he should. A Paladin should never delight in tearing someone down, but this monster needs to be shown that his bullying will not be tolerated.
"....Happs, was it? I am a peaceful man. I do not wish to fight. I am, however, fully prepared to do so if the need arises. I wanted to settle this without bloodshed. But once my newfound friends informed me of your crimes and your nature, they convinced me, begrudgingly, that this was simply not an option. So no, Mister Happs. I will not 'run with my tail between my legs'. Nor will I give you the option to do the same. Today you and your motley crew will face Justice. So either stand your ground and accept your earned fate like men, or scamper and die like vermin. And may whatever Gods you worship take pity on your miserable soul."
Prophet grins and nods at Theodore's response. "Th̡at͘'s rig͠ht, H͏apps.̷ ̡Yo̶u'v҉e got͝ ̴on̡e ̷o͠pt̢įo̢n ̶h͝ere͏. ͞On̴l̢y c̨h̛oic̸e͞ is w͠h̛et̕her̸ ̶yo͝u͠ die ̕l͢i͞ke͠ ̢a ̶ma̡n,̴ ͝or͘ ̨a ̵dog." Prophet shifts his stance and grips his greatsword with his off hand, still held loosely and pointing toward the ground, but ready to fight. "N̷ar̷ ̨m̢at͜ ̀k͟or͡dh-̡i͡s͏h͞i͠."
Happs' grin fades slightly as he stares down Theo and Prophet, his bow wavering ever so slightly in his hands. "You think the t-two of ya stand a chance? We'll cut ya down before you even swing yer sword, mate." He looks back to his men, holding down a gulp in his throat. The bandits hesitate, then draw their own blades and raise their bows. "Don't matter how good y'are, hear me? We'll gut you like pigs!" His face gets red, and a scowl spreads across his face. "What're you waitin' for, then! Kill the f*ckers!"
[dice=Initiative; "Prophet"]d20+1[/dice]
Hearing the bandit leader calling out for blood, Kilarra drops from her post atop the wall onto an unsuspecting bandit. She doesn't manage to score a solid blow, although her machete draws a thin red line across the man's back, leaving him bleeding. He cries out, alerting Happs to her attack. "So it ain't jes the two of ya, huh? Dudn't matter none, hear me?" He lets loose an arrow towards Theo, but it fails to penetrate his mail, although the impact does leave a bit of a bruise.
"!" Prophet's cry is a hideous growling shriek, filled with bloodlust and hate. He rushes forward, his sword trailing behind him, and leaps across the strewn debris hiding the bear traps. Landing on the far side, he brings the sword up and around, aiming to slash straight through Happs's armpit and out his opposite shoulder.
Eran is going to target one of the enemy archer, the one closest to him.
Eran takes a breath and draws as he exhales, finally releasing as his target pauses his movement, however Eran's target's horse shifts at the last second.
As Happs fires off his arrow, Prophet's blade catches him in the rib cage as he releases the bowstring. Tearing through the man's armor and then his flesh, Happs looks down in shock, one hand clutching at his chest. The blood pours between his fingers as he slumps over, and Prophet's sword is wrenched from his chest when the man hits the ground with an audible thud. As he hits the ground, the breaking of glass can be heard, and seconds later Happs' body erupts into flames as his vials of alchemist fire crack and explode. The two bandits next to him catch flame as their horses rear back in fear, nearly throwing the two from their saddles.
Watching Happs fall from his saddle, his force of bandits begins to turn tail and run, fleeing through the open gates of Oleg's Trading Post. As the two flanking Oleg turn tail and run, the trip wire placed by Eran catches their horse's legs, sending them careening to the ground with broken legs. One man manages to fling himself from the saddle, landing in the dirt as his companion is crushed beneath his mount, burning and screaming. Oxwalder erupts from the guest house, taking a swing for one man before he manages to flee. He catches him in the gut with one fist, and kicks in the back of the bandit's leg as he tries to flee, sending him careening into the dirt, his head slamming into the wooden lead of Oleg's cart. Kayrel leaps from his position atop the wall, landing next to one of the few archers. His axe bites deep in the man's thigh, and he drops to a crouch as his blood pours freely. The rest of his fellows flee past him, the hoof beats of their horses fading fast.
As the rest of the bandits scream in fear, Eran's arrow clips another standing next to Kilarra, and drops of blood begin to trickle onto the ground.
Annika watches the brutal take down of the bandit leader as the courtyard dissolves into complete chaos, with men fleeing and fire taking several of them down. "It seems I've been assigned to work with some particularly savage fighters. And the masters think I'm wild. Honestly." She leaves cover, no longer seeing a point in hiding when the entire situation has disintegrated into a mess. "Was that entirely necessary?" she asks Prophet, her voice heavy sarcasm. "Or even intentional?"
After a moment, the rest of the bandits begin to turn tail and run, a few abandoning their horses as they watch their compatriots squeeze through the gates. Most manage to escape through the gate unharmed, but Kilarra and Kayrel each cut one down as they move to escape from the trading post. After a few moments, the only bandits remaining are either dead, burning, or whimpering in pain. Happs' body lies motionless, his cloak still smoldering. The rest of the bandits try to crawl away from their attackers, seeking to leave through the gates until they fall unconscious from blood loss.
Theodore's scowl and grip on his weapon both soften. "Well, that was easier than I had expected." He momentarily rubs his bruise, then dusts off. "Well, let's gather up whoever's still alive. I won't be surprised if we see a retaliation from ther leader. Let's get what information we can from them."
He begins pacing around the battlefield, searching for survivors. He speaks loudly: "Those of you still alive, I ask that you cooperate. We can heal your injuries, and give you a more merciful fate than Mister Happs, but you must help us as well. Tell us what you can about your gang, and we will treat you kindly. Further lawlessness and general thuggery, and I cannot protect you."
While most of the bandits continue to flee, those still within the gates slow their attempts to escape, looking to the two still guarding the gates. While a few still decide to chance running past Kayrel and Kilarra, most drop to the ground, hands on their heads. Happs' body finally burns out, the alchemist's fire having exhausted itself. The two bandits who had caught flame beat the flames from their legs, then look with a mixture of fear and awe towards Theo and Prophet.
Still left in the compound are several horses, along with four bandits who are still alive, or at least conscious. One of them, looking to be Happs' second in command, looks to Theo as he moves forward to speak. "You ain't gonna 'urt us? Really? Why should we trust'ya, eh? I saw that beast cleave Happs in 'alf, clear as day! What's to say 'e ain't gonna do that t'us?"
Theodore walks over to the one that spoke to him, and stares him in the eye. "I am a Paladin. A Divine Knight of Sarenrae. The Dawnflower preaches peace, compassion and redemption. I will not harm you, unless you force my hand." Without breaking his gaze with the bandit, he raises his voice a little to gather the attention of his party. "My allies, do you agree not to harm those who surrender?
As the rest of the party makes no move against the bandits, a few of them stand slowly, nursing their wounds. Most are still wary of the group, but don't seem to be much of a flight risk. The one who stood looks to Theodore, rubbing his burns. "You... who are you? And what do you want to know?" He winces as the tatters of his cloak rub against the fresh burn scars, looking over to Happs with a shudder. "We don't... there ain't much to tell, mate. Happs was the boss, and even he ain't exactly the sharpest, ye understand?"
Prophet grins wildly as his sword carves through Happs's torso, the savage joy of bloodletting spreading over the half-orc's face. He wrenches the blade out as the man falls, and though there is a moment of confusion when the fire bursts out, the warrior doesn't falter. He lets out a grim laugh, watching as chaos erupts among the bandits and they turn tail to run. Just as I thought. Break their leader, and the rest will flee.
Although the spirit within him calls for him to rush after the fleeing bandits, to cut them down and revel in their demise, Prophet gives it only some small satisfaction. He steps forward amid the dying flames and raises his sword high. After a moment's pause for reflection--and an Orcish curse spoken just under his breath--he plunges the blade down, cracking through Happs's ribs and spine, and leaves it there to soak in the blood as he approaches the remaining bandits.
At Annika's question, Prophet turns to her. She sees the same animal, predatory glimmer in his eyes and grin that Theo noticed earlier, easy to see in close quarters without combat raging. The half-orc raises an eyebrow, almost as if he doesn't understand her question. "I̕ ͞s̀a̧i̛d ̛w͠e ͢w͠ould͠ h̨it҉ h̸a͞rd, dr̨iv͢e t͘h͡em͘ ͏b͜e͝f̛o̵re ̢ús͘,҉ ỳeah? A̧n͟d́ ̧ņow͘ w͞ę ͏ha̴ve. ́S͏e̵e how t͡he̡y r͏un,͝ ͝a̴nd̛ ͝we̵ ͠ha̢v̸e ̛n͡o l̶o̕s͢s̡es? T̴hi̶s̨ i̶s҉ ̡a ́v͘ict́ory ͜w̧ith͞ou͏t ̢ques͟tio͡n͡."
With that, Prophet makes his way toward some of the other bandits, leaving Theo to deal with the one he's chosen to question. "Y̡o̵u ̀w̸it͏ne̡ss my̶ ̶ḿig̶h̕t̨ an͢d̨ see͡ yo͞u̧r lead̢er̶ ͝d̶e̡a̸d͡. ̀M͠ak̸íņg ̛any̕ moves̡ ͝wo͞uld͏ be a ͘ba̸d id̷e̸a̧,̛ y͢ea͜h?" He raises his cestus'd hand, the metal gleaming in the sun, and hooks a thumb back at Happs's body, still burning and with a greatsword shoved into it.
Annika sighs. "I suppose we did decide to try that, didn't we? Still, setting him on fire might have been a bit much." She looks over the surrendering bandits and then sheaths her blade. "I guess there's no point in complaining over results. Let's just... try not to explode everyone we fight." She glances over at Theodore. "Interrogations are really my thing. Would you like to continue your nobleness?"
"L-look, I just said there ain't much for me t'tell. Ain't no reason you pull that sword on any of us, mate. You said they weren't gonna kill us!" he says, turning towards Theo. "I can tell you everything I know, but it's no'much. Alright? I don't know numbers or nothin', and I ain't never met the boss hisself, but I know some things, alright?" There is a flash of panic in his eyes, looking at the blood oozing from Happs' rib cage, then wrings his hands as he looks between the three of them while he struggles to come up with information.
"Look, we uh, I could tell... I could tell ya about Kressle! She's Happs' boss, er... was Happs' boss. She's a real piece a work. Been followin' her all around the Stolen Lands for weeks now."
At "your nobleness", Theodore turns to Annika, bows graciously,and smiles. He then returns his gaze to the bandit. "My name is Theodore Greyhawk Iscariot. And yes, any information on this Kressle would be helpful." Theo glances around at the remaining bandits. "Round up, please. Just gather over here near me. Again, simply cooperate, and there will be no more of... he glances over to what's left of Happs. "....That."
The man still standing next to Theo calls the other two bandits over, looking to the bleeding bodies of his comrades. "We... we gotta camp down south a'here, see? That's where... that's where Kressle's at. She's a tough b*tch, alright? Nearly cut off Happs's hand once for reachin' towards somethin' that di'nt b'long to 'im." He looks to the other uncomfortably, clearly not very willing to talk further. "Look, she's a monster, alright? She's even in the Stag Lord's--" As he utters the newest name, the color drains from his face immediately, and his mouth clamps shut. He looks warily towards the party, hoping they didn't notice the slip of the tongue.
"W-what I mean to say is... look, she's uh... she's dangerous."
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"D̀ŕegot̛h͟?" Prophet turns to the bandit and approaches, staring at him hard. He reaches out with his cestus and strokes the man's cheek, dragging the blade tips across the skin, just enough to feel, not drawing any blood. He turns his head slightly, as if musing, and directs his gaze pointedly to the greatsword sticking out of Happs's still-smoldering corpse. "I a͢sk̨e̕d҉ ͠á ̧ḑoz̸en b́a̢n̵di̸ţs͢ who̶ ͜t͜he S͡tag̨ ̸Lord̡ is͠. Wh͘a̢t ̸d̡ǫ ̡y͞ou͡ think ̵the rig̷ht a͟ns҉wer w̕as̡?"
Regardless of what the man says (and with even more vigor if he stammers or tries to protest), Prophet lets out a ferocious shout, bordering on an animal scream. As he does so, he grabs one of the other bandits and throws the man to the ground. It doesn't hurt him beyond a bruise, but the half-orc snarls and grabs the original bandit by the collar.
"Wr̵o͜n̛g̢ a̧ńs̀w͝er͘. And ́r͏ememb̵er, ̶I͢ ̨m͞àde n͜o̢ ̨pr͡o͜m̷i̢s͠e͡s͜.̡ ̛N͟ơw͠: W͞ho. ̧Is.̶ Th̀e St͞ąg ͟L̴òrd?" Prophet stares into the man's eyes, hate and bloodlust filling his own.
"Y-you said they wou-wouldn't kill us!" the bandit screams towards Theo as Prophet grabs him by the collar. "I don't know who the Stag Lord is, I swear! I swear on m'own grave in the Boneyard, I ain't never met the man, alright?" He makes a grab for Prophet's hand, trying to wrest the half-orc from his collar, still half-whimpering in fear as Prophet shakes him.
"Look, alright alright, I only ever heard of 'im, alright? None of us have met 'im. Even Happs only ever spoke to 'im once! Kressle's the one who meets with 'im! I don't even know where none of 'em make camp, not Kressle or none o'the others!" After a moment, the other bandits look concerned, their hands slowly reaching for their weapons. Seeing this, the man relaxes as best he can, his hands now just clasped around Prophet's fist. "I don't know nothin' more, mate. None of us do, 'cept where we made camp last night."
"Easy," Annika says, setting a hand carefully on Prophet's shoulder. "I think they honestly don't know any more. It makes sense in a way. Why bother telling the disposable peons anything important. If we want answers, we'll likely have to ask this Kressle woman. Assuming we can track her down."
Prophet snarls and looks sidelong at Annika. Th͜e ̷lu͟l͡gij̴a̵k̀ sp͜e҉a͏ks̨ weąkne͠s̡s̨.̸ Kill̨ t̡h̛e͡s͠e͡ ͘w͏hel̡pś ańd̵ ͠h͢a͢ve d̡o̢ņe wit̸h it. The half-orc's muscles tense and his whole body seems to strain for a moment. Then, with a grunt, he shoves the bandit away from him and to his knees. Stepping back, he flexes the metal-clad fingers, rubbing the wrist with his free hand.
After a long pause, he speaks again, and his voice is strained, but has lost the savage edge it's taken on since his seance. "You're right." He coughs and turns his gaze to the bandit on the ground. "One more question. Answer the truth, and you get the promise. I won't even hurt you." At this he twitches, winces his eyes shut, and clenches his muscles again. Finally, he opens his eyes and exhales heavily. "Where did you camp? Show us on a map."
"Where we--yeah, yeah, I can do that." Slowly, he pulls a map from a bag at his side, and unravels it on the ground. He points on the map a fair distance south of the trading post, which is circled in red. "We're down here, right? Kressle made camp at the mouth o'the Thorn, but she'll gut ye like pigs, given the chance."
"And even if ye kill 'er, he's got other camps out 'ere, at least one other. Last we 'eard o' them they were west of's, but I couldn't tell ya where they're at now."
"Where we--yeah, yeah, I can do that." Slowly, he pulls a map from a bag at his side, and unravels it on the ground. He points on the map a fair distance south of the trading post, which is circled in red. "We're down here, right? Kressle made camp at the mouth o'the Thorn, but she'll gut ye like pigs, given the chance."
"And even if ye kill 'er, he's got other camps out 'ere, at least one other. Last we 'eard o' them they were west of's, but I couldn't tell ya where they're at now."
"Correction. She'll try to gut us like pigs. Her chances of success are not very good." She flicks the point of her blade toward the man's throat. "Much like your chances of survival are not good if you're 'forgetting' to tell us anything."
"Haven't left nothin' out, miss. Kressle's a terror, but she ain't the one with a blade to m'throat." He takes a step back, into the relative safety of his fellows. He rubs his shoulders nervously, then another of the bandits begins to speak. "Those that got 'way prob'ly ran back to camp, told Kressle ya'll showed up. Don't know what she'll do a'that point; she could show up 'morrow or hunker down, dig in her heels down at the mouth o' the Thorn." They look to each other with a sense of unease, but otherwise remain silent.
-----
After a few minutes, Oleg approaches the group as they stand around the prisoners. "You all really know what you're doin', don'cha?" He eyes Prophet especially, his eyes darting back to Happs's corpse. "What's yer plan now, then? You've got a gaggle o'bandits trapped in my courtyard, after all."
Annika's eyes narrow for a moment, then sheaths her blade. "I will trust that you are telling me the truth." She turns back to the group. "I believe we will have to deal with that now that we have the location of their camp. Making the first strike may be the best way to gain the advantage in such a situation."
As Oleg approaches, she simply nods. "We try our best." Glancing at Theodore, she clears her throat. "I believe you promised to take responsibility for these men. Did you actually have a plan to deal with them if the surrendered?"