Gallidren turns to Annika and the others, "It is an omen from Erastil. We must purge the greenbelt of corruption. Surely the stag he refers to is the Stag Lord that we seek. Let us complete our quests to the village and temple quickly so that we may complete our task of clearing this land of the bandit scourge. It is our divine mandate."
Creon stares at Gallidren.
"Assertion and Apology: Friend, I am sorry but I do not have a divine mandate. Please do not include me in such things without my assent. I saw a sick and trapped animal. If I had thought it to be a godsthing, to be honest I would have left it to its own devices."
Still reeling from the appearance of what could only be a divine messenger, the group traverses the rest of the glade in silence. Eventually, the traps begin to thin out as you move into another, more forested area, until you stumble across a trap already sprung. A few large logs lay collapsed on the ground, trapping some unfortunate soul beneath. He lies with his hand outstretched, a pool of now-dried blood creeping out from beneath the fallen debris. Clearly dead, the man appears to be older and clad in hunter's garb, with a well-made hatchet sticking out of a nearby tree stump. The trap appears to have sprung prematurely, but only Prophet and Annika notice that it doesn't look like the rope snapped; it was cut in half by something small and sharp. "I believe we might have found our trapper," Theo says, one hand over his heart as he seems to take a moment of silent prayer.
Annika joins Theo in a moment of silence, murmuring quietly in Celestial. She looks up, examining the trap and the fallen logs. "This doesn't look right. It doesn't seem to be an accident but more... like it was cut. This may have been someone's way of putting an end to the trapper in a rather direct way."
Gallidren will search the trap for any residual danger and will then see if he can free the body. He will then search the man's clothes for anything of interest. "Why was he trapping hunters? Could he have been associated with the bandits?"
"Mmm." Prophet hums in agreement, surveying the scene with a practiced eye. "And this doesn't seem like a trap for an animal. It would batter and crush, and more work than its worth. Does a fine job of killing a man, though."
Creon looks on, bemused, as he helps Gallidren check the trap and the body.
"Question: If this was the trapper, how and by whom was he trapped in turn? If he knew the area well enough to lay the traps we already saw and and well enough to subsequently avoid them to collect his prey, how did he in turn miss this huge trap?"
Examining the trap, Creon and Gallidren are fairly certain that it wasn't laid with the trapper in mind; rather, something appears to have gone wrong when he was setting it himself. The logs pose no more immediate danger, having already crushed the trapper beneath their weight. Giving the trap a once over however, reveals that it seems it was sprung before its completion, which was likely the cause of the trapper's end. Triggered properly, the logs would merely trap the animal--or person, as the case may be--until the trapper could return to the site and put it out of its misery. Whoever or whatever caused the logs to fall did it before the man had finished, causing it to instead crush him beneath their weight. As for who or what might have sprung the trap, it remains anyone's guess. While it could have been cut by a knife, the rope could have been severed just as easily by the jaws of some animal.
"Gathered Observation: this was the trapper's own device. Something triggered it as he was setting it. Either an individual of malign intent or an animal."
"Supplementary Question (Rhetorical): but if it was an animal, why was the body not subsequently disturbed?"
Gallidren nods at Creon, "Yes, so someone beat the trapper at his own game. Well, the enemy of our enemy ..."
Gallidren looks for any tracks leading away from the logs.
"We should continue on our way to the village."
"I wonder how much of an enemy this man might be," Annika murmurs. "He could have simply been a villager who decided to hunt a bit more than was wise. Or perhaps he was a bandit. We'll hardly know now. And there's no telling if we can trust someone who's first reaction to poaching is to murder the poacher." She sighs and rubs her eyes. "Never the less, there's little that can be done here, unless we have the time to give him a burial. Perhaps we should simply move on."
Agreeing to move on farther on the trail, the party eventually finds their way to the river, and follow it's length until they reach yet another bandit encampment. Set up much like the one before it, the party approaches from upriver, settling in not far behind an abandoned wagon. Two guards are easily spotted from a watchtower, while another sits close to the camp itself. Watching the camp, they spot about 12 bandits along with their leader, whom you presume from the letter found in the last camp is Fat Norry; a morbidly obese man whose tunic fails to contain his gut. Unlike the other bandits, holding longswords, Norry holds a rather large hammer with a wicked hook on its back end, but it looks to be in a state of disrepair. The bandits don't seem to have heard of your attack on the last camp, and they don't seem to be particularly on guard. Only a few men are on watch, and most either don't have their weapons on them or don't have them drawn.
The party reaches the camp close to dusk, although the sun still hangs low in the sky. An all-out assault would be possible now, but you could also easily hang back until the dead of night, making an assault on this camp much like you did the last one.
Gallidren whispers to the others. "I say we confront them now. Kill any whom don't surrender immediately. Same tactics as before. What do you say?"
"It may be wiser to wait an hour or so. As soon as it's full night, we can take the whole camp while they're asleep and unprepared. Much less effort on our part if half of them are asleep before we make our move."
"Opinion: Given that Annika fell in battle on the last occasion, perhaps we might change our tactics - pick them off from range and draw them out?"
"It may be wise to wait, much as I'd love to strike now and drive them in fear. They aren't likely to surrender until many fall, and in the meanwhile we'd be outnumbered and likely to face arrows."
The half-orc cracks his neck and stares at the bandits' leader. "One thing when we do attack. The f́at ͟o͠ne ͏i͢s̀ m̡i̵n͞e̴.̕"
Gallidren nods, "We attack tonight then."
He will use the time to prepare for battle.
As dusk begins to settle, the party is well aware of the carelessness of the bandits. Apparently having met little or no resistance, one guard post is left completely unmanned as the sun sets, and a number of others unbuckle their scabbards and set them in their tents or by the fire. Fat Norry sits at the campfire with massive hammer in hand, grinning while he rips into a large hunk of meat. The light from the fire pit doesn't reach the wagon, however, and you all remain easily hidden from sight. Three men stand at the watchtower while another chats with his fellows; all are out of sight from the main camp as the night thickens.
Creon whispers to the others. "Opinion: there seems to be little point in attacking the watchtower. They can not see the main camp. It would seem we can effectively attack the main group without initial interference, though the noise will doubtless attract those at the camp's edge. Should we concentrate our attack on the main group, then, or would you prefer - as before - that friend Holgar and I take those at the periphery while the rest concentrate on the centre?"
"Maybe they can't see the camp, but they'd likely notice us creeping up if we don't take care of them. I'm fine with any plan, just tell me when I should charge in." Prophet has his sword in hand, ready to attack as soon as the others are.
Gallidren nods at Creon, "I would advise that you again attempt to remove the bandits on the periphery so that they can't surround us. I propose that Prophet and Annika lead the charge and frontally attack the main group. I will then flank and try to knock out as many as possible with color spray."
"I believe that I can do that." Annika draws her blade. "But I suggest that Creon takes his shot first. The closer we can get to the camp without being seen, the better position we're in to strike."
Creon nods, reattaches his mask and focuses on one of the individuals at the watchtower. Takes in the man's movement, his breathing, his stance. The bandit is chatting to one of his friends, oblivious to the coming storm. Kill them all, thinks Creon.
He nocks an arrow, takes aim.
He fires.
Gallidren will cast mage armor prior to Creon opening the attack. He will then follow in behind Annika and Prophet once they attack.
Annika closes her eyes and prays softly, calling on Shelyn's power to lend her strength. Her holy symbol glows slightly as her power enhances her blade.
Theo follows his commerades into position, and speaks a quiet prayer to Sarenrae as he walks. "Sarenrae... These men burn down a wicked road. But you have taught me that no man is beyond redemption. I pray that the grace of the Everlight shall shine through me. I pray that they may see my example and change their ways. Should they surrender, I will accept them as they are, and bring to them your Healing Light. The sins of their past shall be forgiven, and they will be granted a new life in you. Should they refuse...." Theodore draws his sword and shield and the smile leaves his face. "... Then it is my grim duty to purge the unrepentant."
As the Creon takes aim, Holgar hefts his crossbow and lines up a shot on the other bandit upon the watchtower. Bolt and arrow fly at the same time, both catching the men in the throat with a spray of blood as they topple backwards. Luckily, neither collapses off the platform, and despite the clatter their weapons cause as they strike the wooden scaffolding, the one remaining bandit on the ground doesn't seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Holgar lowers his crossbow and looks to the others before gesturing to the lone bandit with one of the bow arms. "You lads think we ought ta put one in 'im 'fore he comes back around?"
"Y͝es͜,͏ ͢I̵ ̀s̷ho͞ul̴d͏ ̕t̴hi͢nk só.҉" Prophet growls, his voice clearly indicating he isn't sure why the question is even being raised. What sort of lulgijak wouldn't take out the third guard?
Creon ignores - actually does not discern - Prophet's tone, turns and nods at Holgar. He focuses on the third guard, following the same procedure:
Creon's next arrow catches the guard between the pieces of boiled leather covering his chest, piercing through his heart. The force of the shot rocks him backward, hand reflexively coming up to clutch at the arrow in his chest. The reaction is worthless, however; the bandit is dead before he ever hits the ground. With all three guards dead, the path to the camp is clear. "Let's flush 'em out, shall we?" Holgar says, loading another bolt.
Despite his bulky sword and the rustling of his chain shirt, Prophet moves with a fair amount of quiet through the brush, creeping up on the camp and ready to attack.
Theo attempts to move stealthily to the watchtower. Before leaving the group he whispers "I must offer them an opportunity to surrender. But I will wait until we are all in position and hold an advantage. If they refuse, they sign their lives away."
"If you must," Annika murmurs softly. "But I doubt it will go much differently than last time."
As Theo moves towards the watchtower, the laughter and banter of the bandits grows louder, masking the sounds of your approach. Prophet somehow manages to move through the shadows unseen, not worried that the light of the campfire will lead to his discovery. "Aye lad, I'll get int'a position, see if I can't flush 'em out." with that, the Dwarf scrambles up towards the camp, climbing the second watchtower without the bandits noticing his presence. However, he seems content to wait for a signal.
Creon creeps forward to a position to the south of the camp, where he can best see potential targets through the trees.
Prophet slinks through the brush far more softly than he should, and it seems the spirits are with him as he approaches the camp. In fact, he makes it right up behind the fat man at the fire, crouched low in the foliage, just out of sight and too quiet to hear. That silence barely exists for the half-orc himself, though, as the blood rushes through his heart, his neck, beating in his temples. The lust of war fills him, and he has to contain his desire to strike until the others are ready. At that point, though, he rises, steps forward to plant his feet, and brings his greatsword down on Fat Norry.
Creon picks one of the targets in sight and watches and waits until Prophet makes his move. Then fires.
Gallidren follows Prophet in and color sprays the two southernmost bandits.
Theo moves into position on the north side of the campfire, holding his sword in one hand and the axe in the other. With a loud, commanding voice, he offers a stern ultimatum. "MAKE ANY THREATENING MOVEMENT AND I ASSURE YOU IT WILL BE YOUR LAST. You are surrounded and we can end your reign of terror in seconds. But Sarenrae teaches us compassion. So I offer you scoundrels a choice. Make it quickly. If you surrender without a fight and cease your ways of thuggery and preying on innocents, you will be treated with kindness. If you refuse, you will suffer the same fate as Kressle and her minions at Thorn River." He holds the handaxe for them to see.
"Oy! Who t'f*ck're you?" The sound erupts from the large man by the fire, amidst the sounds of chewing. He swings his massive hammer up into his hands, turning slowly towards the sound of Theo's voice. "Kressle's..." he stops short as he sees the handaxe in Theo's palm, but his face screws up in anger. "Y'think I'm scared just 'cause you put down that b*tch? Men! Kill 'im, you sons o'--" As he continues his tirade, Prophet erupts from the bushes with greatsword in hand, cleaving heavily into Fat Norry's spectacular bulk. The man doesn't fall, but he does stumble backwards towards the fire clutching at his wound. As he doubles over in pain, Creon's arrow catches the man in the heart, and he utters a final grunt while he collapses backwards onto the ground.
The rest of their men watch as the coordinated assault drops their leader to the ground, and they drop their weapons and raise their hands above their heads. You hear shouts of surrender and cries for mercy as they drop to the ground with their swords clattering to the ground about the fire.
Gallidren will help tie up the prisoners. He will then interrogate several of them, "Tell us what you know of the stag lord and his strong hold. Where is it? How do you normally enter? What are the defenses? How many bandits are there?"
Creon sits and leans on his bow, watching the interrogation. "Consideration: we came in search of a village, terrorised by these people. Where is the village, what has happened to it? And then, of course, there is this temple we are meant to somehow liberate. I think we shall have to deal with both of these matters before that of the stronghold."
Theo smiles as the men surrender. "Wise decision, gentlemen. As his allies tie the prisoners, he walks around them. Maintianing a commanding stance, but a kinder face. "I am glad you surrendered. Truly, I am. I am not a violent man by nature. Certainly I am capable of combat, but I prefer to walk a path of peace. And I hate to see such potential wasted. Each among you could be so much more than this. I know your ways. I know most of you are not truly evil men. You did not set out purely with the goal of harming innocents. Many of you led the lives of the very villagers you now harass, once upon a time. Perhaps you fell on hard times. Perhaps you simply knew no better way to survive. Perhaps you were never taught a better way. But gentlemen, I promise you, there is a better way. There is a better life. Sarenrae teaches that no one is beyond redemption. If any among you wish to renounce your ways, I will see to it that you get the help you need to find a better life. What say you, my friends?"
Creon rolls his eyes. "Alternative and Objection: Speaking - unlike you, I think - as someone who has lived among these creatures, and who has been treated - and mistreated - as their possession, I do not believe many, if any, of them were ever farmers and villagers. You already know my view: we should kill them all."
Prophet shrugs. "That's exactly what we can do if they don't shape up and start acting like decent folk." He grins as if at the thought and absently wipes some blood off his sword with one hand, bringing it up to inhale the heady, metallic scent. "I for one would be sorry if I didn't get the chance to kill anyone else, but if they'd rather work, I guess that'll have to do."