"Be it so known that the bearer of this charter has been charged by the Swordlords of Restov, acting upon the greater good and authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, has granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thrity-six miles east and west and sixty miles south of Oleg's Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behavior to be encountered. The punihsment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. So witnessed on this 24th day of March, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne."
Each holding their own copy of this charter, the explorers sent by the Swordlords of Restov have, after several days of long travel, finally managed to make the trek to their destination, Oleg's Trading Post. While still a fair distance out, the trading post appears to be built in the ruins of an abandoned fort, with its heavy wooden gates studded with iron. While they appear to remain open for now, the afternoon sun is nearing the horizon, indicating they will likely be closing for the night within the next few hours.
Annika looks up at the trading post in the distance, raising one hand to block the glare of the setting sun, and then at her companions around her. The last few days of hard travel have left little time for pleasantries, but she at least knows that the men and women beside her as prepared to do their duty here. "Let's pick up the pace a bit," she calls out. "It's best that we make it before night falls. I don't fancy another night on the ground when we can get finally get some comfortable beds."
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Prophet glances at the half-elf woman as she speaks and gives a small smile. Personally, sleeping on the ground didn't bother him anymore--he'd spent many, many nights in the wilds, with little more than a bedroll and some grass to provide comfort. Still, it's best not to let the others know about that past, at least not just yet. He simply shoulders his pack and nods. "Agreed, we should get a move on."
The half-orc steps up his pace, once again surprising the group, given his comparatively thin physique. Though tall and broad-shouldered like most of his race, this half-orc is quite lean, his skin looking stretched over more bone than muscle. He also sports an almost incredible number of tattoos and piercings, the patterns harshly carving their way up and down each arm, across his chest, and even up his neck onto his cheeks and forehead. Small studs dot his ears and nostrils, and he even sports a small iron ring at the edge of one eyebrow. Even more odd is the massive sword he carries on his back--one that certainly looks beyond his capabilities to wield. Given his lack of armor, he looks like a simple pilgrim or perhaps some sort of mage, probably bringing the sword as a delivery or a particularly cumbersome memento.
Still, he's been more than able to keep up with the group so far, despite his thin frame and heavy load, and he even gives a low, guttural chant as he marches, keeping pace to the time in the rough tongue of orcs.
Annika glances at the half-orc and nods. "Right then." She picks up the pace, pulling her crimson cloak around her body. Her dark hair twists around her face as a slight breeze blows over the group and she shivers despite the cloak.
Her face shows more of her elven heritage than human, with sharp highly angular features and her pointed ears emerging from under her hair. Sharp violet eyes look ahead as she walks. Her body is slim and she moves with practiced grace and focus. A leather vest, studded with metal rivets and light reinforced plates, covers most of her torso with matching bracers and well worn boots of a similar make. Beneath her armor, a simple but well made cream shirt with a bright red sash adding a splash of color to her waist above dark brown pants. A splash of gold graces her neck where a songbird shaped clasp holds her cloak in place and a she occasionally rubs a ring on her left hand or fingers a slightly curved blade on her hip.
Off to the side of the group Eran stares out into the woods. A warm bed will be appreciated, I however, will miss the caress of the forest. he shifts the weight of his jet black bow on his shoulder, a movement almost lost among the folds of his mottled green cloak.
With his hood down for one of the few times on this trip it is easier then normal to see his face and features. obviously of elven descent his shoulder length red hair and bright blue eyes do nothing to reveal the celestial blood also running in his veins. However a few small signs suggest as much, eyes that reflect light; hair that shines silver the few times his hood has dropped in the moonlight; and how his hair and clothes seem to be swept by a wind that is not always there. Other than these oddities Eran seems quite normal for a born noble, even of a lesser house.
He wears a simple green tunic under a leather vest that offers some protection, basic traveling trousers, and simple but well made traveling boots. If not for the Msdvyed house sigil sewn onto one of the pockets of his bag Eran could easily be mistaken for a common peasant. Despite his common appearance, the way Eran carries himself suggests a strong belief in his abilities, one that is backed up by the small game he occasionally produces to add to dinner. Well, this looks like it will be a good place to sell game once we set up. It's defendable to by the looks of it.
Theodore shifted uncomfortably in his armour. The scales tend to pinch here and there. Sure he was trained in how to move and fight in armour heavier than this, but he spent most of his days in the courts and castles, settling petty squabbles between nobles. He was used to being the scales, not wearing them. Still, new experiences are all part of the adventure, he supposes... And he did want to get out and have an adventure. "Yes, let's pick up our pace. I left in a hurry, and I've been thinking along the trails, many more things I should have packed for our journey. I wish to visit the shopkeep before nightfall."
Kayreal seems to enjoy being out of the towns in the open lands. He would rather be just him and Theodore seeing as they go way back and are good friends. Seeing as how he is a half-drow he got in to so many fights because no one ever excepted him all but one so now he will die for him."We shale make it be for nightfall as long as no one slows use down!!"
After about an hour or so, the group manages to make it to the trading post. While the building was clearly once a fort of some sort, the trading post has clearly seen its share of wear and tear. While a 20-foot high stone wall clearly once protected the interior of the fort, in many places the stonework has either been broken down or simply fallen apart. Where the stonework has fallen, wooden palisades have been erected to provide protection, giving the fort a rather thrown-together appearance.
The heavy wooden gates remain open, with the broken remains of one of the fort's four watchtowers lying in a collapsed heap next to the fort's nearest corner. Within the trading post itself, you notice a number of rustic, wooden buildings. Along with what appears to be the home of the owners of the trading post, you notice stables--with one old, finicky looking horse hitched inside, a storage pen, a large fire pit flanked by two tables, and what appears to be the lodging for guests. A ladder is propped up against the side of the guest lodging, and a man who you'd guess is the owner of the trading post is kneeling on the roof, hammer and nails in hand.
As he sees the group ride in through the gates, he wipes his brow and sets the hammer down on the roof, moving to the ladder. "Svetlana! We've got guests!" he hollers as he climbs down the ladder. A middle-aged man with graying hair, he motions for the party to ride further in as he wipes his face with a rag. "Thought the letter I got from Restov said there'd be more of you. Sure there ain't two more of ya still ridin'? Or are they comin' with the patrol?"
Once the owner gets down off the ladder Eran moves to shake his hand. You must be the owner of this fine place. My name is Eran Medvyed, it's a pleasure to meet you.
Annika shakes her head. "Good evening," she says as the man climbs down. "I'm afraid our other companions are slightly... delayed. Hopefully, they'll be along shortly." She shakes herself. "Pardon my manners. Annika Valarius. A pleasure." She bows slightly toward the apparent owner.
Prophet stands by awkwardly as the man questions them. What does he know? How much did he here? Did the letter say anything about who was coming? Or just how many... If he knows, he knows, Prophet. Nothing to be done about that.
The half-orc clears his throat and nods. "The others are probably on their way, yes. I'm Malaz Tarn." He shifts his pack on his shoulder. "Do you have any lodgings available for us? I'd like to drop off some of my things. It's a heavy load to carry this long way."
The man frowns, staring at Eran's hand for several seconds, before beginning to speak. "So you don't know when the patrol's commin'? Figures." He looks back over his shoulder, where he yet again shouts, "Svetlana! We have guests! Get out here!" He grunts as Annika gives him a bow, then gestures with his thumb over to the building he was previously working on. "Five silver for lodging, and that's where you'll be. Just about finished patching the roof." As he sets his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, he mutters, "Oh, and the name's Oleg."
You all notice an older, but pleasant looking woman emerge from the home in the north-east corner of the trading post. As the door slams shut behind her, the man shrugs, and walks over towards the ladder. "Svetlana can help you from here. I'll be on the roof." With that, Svetlana addresses the group as Oleg begins to climb towards the roof.
"Sorry about my husband. He's been very busy lately. I'm Svetlana Leveton, how are you all doing? I'm assuming you're all looking to spend the night in our guest lodgings? It's five silver per night, and stabling your horses will be two silver. If you rented them in Restov, we can have them brought back to their owner for an additional two silver pieces." Looking out of breath and flustered. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I jumped right to business, how rude? I didn't catch any of your names. How are all of you?"
Annika nods toward the man. "Of course," she says, a little caught off guard by his gruff greeting. "We'll likely need rooms for some time, though how long we'll be here is uncertain." She sighs as he climbs back to the roof without leaving time for questions. "Right, I'll just ask your wife then."
She gives another small bow toward Svetlana as she approaches the group. "A pleasure to meet you," she says. "Yes, we'll all need lodging for a time. It depends how often we're around." She smiles at the woman. "Annika Valarius, of the Aldori."
"I'm well enough, though your husband seems a bit harried. Are you well?"
Eran looks down at his hand, slightly bemused. In my experience people who's jobs involved dealing with people tend to be a bit more friendly, or at least civil. I've got a bad feeling about this
Eran turns to Svetlana, waiting for Annika before he speaks. My names Eran Medvyed. Eran also decides he better just stick with a small bow, though the attitudes of both Oleg and Svetlana reminds him of the letter he received for this journey. I must agree with my companion ma'am, if there is something troubling you and your husband we are duty bound to assist in any way we can. Not to mention it would be a pain if something were to happen to our primary supply line.
"Malaz Tarn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Missus Leveton. Can't say I've heard much of the others or anything going on around here, I guess I was one of the last to get a charter." The half-orc gives a small smile and nods. "And I'm very well, thank you."
Theo was amazed at this Oleg fellow. No feigning politeness, no false smiles, he barely made pleasantries. Just... Honest physical labour. The life of a working man was strange and different. Theo was so caught off guard by it that it took him a moment to react to the woman. "Oh! My sincerest apologies... Svetlana, was it? I am Theodore Greyhawk Iscariot, at your service. Please, I would be glad to assist with whatever is troubling you. Perhaps your husband might need a hand with... whatever happened to the roof?"
Svetlana looks to the party, a feigned smile on her face. "Well, we were told to expect a patrol to come along with you all. Guardsmen from Restov, you see?" She smooths out her skirt, looking over to Theodore. "And while I'm sure he'd appreciate your offer, it's just a leak. Pardon his manners, he's just been very stressed lately. It's just been a lot for him to handle. He's very prideful, doesn't want to admit we need the help." She beckons the group begin to follow her back towards the house, waving them towards her as she turns and walks away. "But you lot seem like you can handle yourselves. I'm sure everything'll be fine." She holds open the door for the party. "Please come in, I've cooked you all dinner. Complimentary, for all that you're doing for us."
Annika frowns, certain something is wrong but not quite able to put her finger on it. "I believe I recall something about a patrol, but I don't remember much," she says. "My apologies. If there's something troubling you, perhaps we can be of assistance. It's the least we can do for your hospitality." Her stomach rumbles slightly at the mention of food. "Ha, a good hot meal would certainly be welcome after day on the road. Perhaps we can speak for a bit over dinner. Any news from the area would be appreciated." She moves to follow Svetlana inside.
Kayrel looks around gets a funny feeling about this place and thinks that there is more than meets the eye.But food!!"Good now you are talking my kind of language.I am starved. Lets eat!!! Kayrel is my name.
Eran gives one last look around the encampment before following the rest of the party. I have to be missing something, damn I must be having an off day if I can't even figure this out. Oh well I've done my bit, time to sit back and gather some more information. Food sounds good.
"Aye, a warm meal and soft bed sound perfect after our time on the road." The half-orc shifts his load a little, once again seeming to show that he shouldn't be carrying his large sword. "And you can let us know about any troubles you've been having. Don't tell me the Bandit Armies of the Stolen Lands are causing you trouble." He chuckles as he suggests this, brushing it off as nonsense. Don't tell me he found out already...
"Well, I don't know if I'd call them armies, per say. But I'm sure with you all, and the patrol that's on the way, we won't have anything to worry about after tomorrow." Having seen the party, Svetlana's mood seems to have improved considerably, humming as she moves you into the dining room and walks into the kitchen. "We were expecting you a little later, so the food isn't quite ready," Svetlana calls from the kitchen. "But there is some honey bread and wine on the table for each of you. Please, make yourselves at home. I'll be done with supper in just a bit!" With that, Svetlana leaves you alone in the dining room.
Clearly once the home of the guard captain when this trading post was a still a border fort, the Leveton's home looks well-kept and built, if rather rustic. The dining room was likely once used to greet dignitaries moving through the fort, although now it seems the Leveton's use it to greet their own guests.
Kay with a paranoid view. he looks around at the party [B]"It is to quit.Quit is not my thing. Valarius whats your story?[B]"
Annika smiles at Svetlana. "Much appreciated," she says as she takes a seat. She hangs her cloak over the back of her chair, finding the room rather comfortable.
"My story?" she repeats at the rough looking man's question. "Kayrel, correct?" She pours herself some wine and takes a long drink. "Not much to tell honestly. I've lived in Restov for most of my life. My mother died when I was young, so I spent a fair number of years on the streets. The Aldori took me in and I've been with them ever since. They assigned me as their personal representative for the job here." There's an obvious hint of pride in her voice at the last statement.
Eran gives a soft grunt at Annika's last statement. You're right to be proud. I haven't spent much time in Restov but the Aldori are known far and wide as an honorable group with great skill in swordsmanship. The fact that they put such trust in you speaks well of your abilities.
Annika smiles. "They've certainly earned their reputation," she says fondly. "I'm still an apprentice, but hopefully I'll earn my place as a full member by proving myself with this mission." She takes another drink and relaxes. "So, what about you? I didn't catch your name outside, but you seem familiar with the area."
Eran gives a brief grin. Maybe having people to talk to won't be so bad. Well if I were to introduce myself like my uncle thinks I should it would probably go along the lines of; I am Lord Eran Medvyed, 53rd in line of the house Medvyed, heir to the house of chroniclers, blah di blah di blah. But that's a load of bull so just call me Eran. As to knowing the area, not as much as you might think, I've traveled around a bit, it's almost a requirement for my family, but most of my life has been spent either roaming around the Gronzi Forest that my family stewards or cooped up with my elders learning the old stories. I'll admit that it wasn't that bad I've grown up on stories of heroic Sword Lords, shrewd businessmen, and great rulers; but when my family was approached for this expedition due to our familiarity with similar terrain I jumped at the chance to make a few stories of my one you know? A chance to be the subject of a story rather then just the teller.
Prophet gives a small chuckle at the talk of the others as he helps himself to some wine and bread. At the looks he probably receives, he shrugs. "Just interesting to hear the tales of outsiders. You folk obviously haven't been here long, it shows." He breathes deeply and takes a sip of the wine. "This is rough country, filled with rough people. Sure, you look like you can handle yourselves, but you also look fairly soft, whether you mind my saying or not. 'Heroic Swordlords?' I don't know that even the idea holds up out here."
He tears a chunk of bread off and pops it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing before continuing. "No, here it isn't about honor, or noble titles--good that you already consider that talk rubbish--or 'personal representatives' or anything like that. It's kill or be killed, take or get taken from, most of the time. You have to be tough or smart or both to make it out here." He takes another sip of wine and turns his gaze back to Eran and Annika, flashing a smile. "But I'm sure you knew that already."
Annika bristles. "Listen, I earned my place with skill and with hard work, so I damn well have a right to be proud to call myself a Swordlord. I'm not some noble snob, I grew up on bread crusts tossed away and learned every skill I have from self training when I had enough food to live a couple of days without begging or stealing again." She tears a chuck out of her bread with a bit more force than necessary. "And if you're so quick to dismiss honor, you're hardly better than the bandits we're here to deal with. Pragmatism is all well and good, but if you let yourself ignore honor entirely, you'll just end up as bad as them."
Eran nods in agreement at Annika's words then simply stares at his clenched fists. I'm not going to say something like "I'm better than most nobles" cause that's crap. Far to much has been given to me in this world that's why I'm here. Eran pauses to look up from the table and glares at Malaz. However you better watch yourself when calling stories and tales rubbish. Every story has, at its heart, a truth, stories are how we learn right from wrong and show us what we should strive for, the ideal, and the second you lose sight of that your nothing more than a wreck living from day to day with no passion, no ambition, and no sense of self betterment; no better then a living corpse, do NOT call stories rubbish! Eran takes a long breath after speaking so quickly then seems to realize that he had half stood up during his rant and slips back down into his chair a bit meekly. Damn, never got this heated back home guess the family business rubbed off a bit more then I thought. I may want to live my own life but that doesn't mean that I don't respect the stories I've learned.
"Whoa, whoa." Prophet holds up his hands and raises his eyebrows. "Now hold on here, I didn't mean to cause a fight or anything. Now, I'm certainly not saying that your own hardships aren't worth anything. I don't know what you've been through, and you don't know my story either. But see these scars? Every one of them has a story behind it, every damn one." He runs his fingers across his arms and chest, tracing old lines of scarred-over wounds and tattoos. "Beatings, whippings, fights won and lost."
He turns to Eran. "As for you, boy, it wasn't stories I was calling rubbish, it was your title. The 'blah di blah' part?" The half-orc shakes his head with a grin. "You two seem awful quick to judge, huh? I try to comment that you might stand a chance and you jump down my throat and up my ass at the same time." He sighs and pulls off another piece of bread. "And there's a good distance between honor and thieving. We're in the Stolen Lands, border regions. Nothing here's as clearly defined as you're used to."
Annika takes a breath and composes herself. "True, I don't know you. I shouldn't judge before I do. So, if you have so many scars you must have as many stories. So who are you, since you seem to know so much about the lands we're to be exploring." She laughs, but the sound is slightly bitter. "Ha, you and I have something in common after all. I haven't had nearly enough to drink to pull my shirt off, but I've got a nice collection on my back from the matron at the place my mother worked."
Eran sits back in his chair, arms crossed. Hm, stories can also teach lessons and, if you let them, bring together those separated by time and space, apology accepted and my own offered. As for my own capabilities, I may not be familiar with the Stolen Lands but do not under estimate the dangers of the Gronzi Forest. There are older and more powerful things than bandits that live in the untamed and forgotten corners of this world and it has long been the duty of my family to protect them from the hands of humans, and humans from them. I may not have as many physical scars but I have quite a few stories, many of which do not end happily. Well a story could do worse then protagonists such as these.
You all hear a door slam shut, and a few moments later Kilarra walks into the dining room. She throws her cloak over the back of one of the chairs and takes a seat. "Can someone tell me what in the hells is going on around here? I met Oleg outside, and he mentioned something about bandits and a hole in the roof? He seemed pretty pissed that I didn't know about a certain patrol, too. What's that about? Is there something that we aren't being told?"
"And hello to you too." Annika passes a cup of wine down the table to their newcomer. "Your guess is as good as mine. Our hosts have been a bit cagey with the details so far. My guess, they're having some personal bandit troubles, but they haven't come out and told us anything yet." She shakes her head. "So anyway, how about a name stranger, since it seems we're to be working together."
"I see. Seems they've been pretty vague. We might want to figure out what's going on." Kilarra takes a drink from the cup of wine. Hmm...Not bad. She turns back to Annika. "And just how much wine have you had already, Annika? We met just a couple days ago. Does the name Kilarra ring any bells?"
"Barely a cup," Annika replies. "Kilarra... Kilarra... oh right, we talked a bit before leaving Restov, just briefly. My apologies, I'm bad with putting names to faces. Well, it's good you made it alright. I was a bit worried when you got held up. Dinner should be shortly, and hopefully we'll get some straight answers from our hosts then." She chuckles. "We've been having a time, telling a few tales from our lives. Feel free to share if you're up to it."
Eran looks around at the motley bunch gathered around the table. So is this everyone? Did anyone come with you Kilarra? Hm, a motley bunch of rascals, bandits supposedly plundering the county side. Yes this will make a fine prologue to our story, I'm looking forward to it.
"Ah. I'm not one to forget a name or a face." Kilarra turns her gaze to Eran. "Just me and my horse. I generally travel alone." It's easier that way. "Though we are expecting one more, are we not?"
Right, right there was one other, though I don't remember their name... Eh I'm sure they'll show soon enough. This is what I get for not paying attention, but there were so many good stories going around that tavern. Now I'm afraid I interrupted your conversation with miss Valarius. I believe I heard mention of a potential tale? I really should be spending more time listening than talking well I'll just have to work on it.
Kilarra blatantly ignores Eran's request for a story and stares at the remaining liquid in her cup. She takes another sip before she retrieves the falcata from her belt and begins to sharpen it. Although she doesn't lift her gaze from the blade, it is clear that Kilarra is speaking to Annika. "You say we'll get answers from our hosts, but they speak as if we are already supposed to know about this patrol. I just think that's strange, but it might just be me. Seems you all are happy just waiting to find out what we're already supposed to know."
Annika frowns. "Well, we're a group of mercenaries out of Restov, it makes sense that they think we know if the soldiers are coming. It might have been mentioned to us before we left actually, or maybe it wasn't an issue yet. I don't know. I'd rather know what's going on, then make a call rather than worry about it."
When Prophet had uttered the word "soft", Theo noticed a familiar look in his friend Kayrel's eye. Immediately he put a hand on the half-Drow's shoulder, leaned in and spoke softly to him. "Peace, my friend. I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. Surely you'll have a chance to prove your worth soon. All this talk of bandits... You've always had a certain way with bandits!"
His concentration was broken with Kilarra's dramatic entrance. "Oh, another commerade! A pleasure to meet you, madam. Theodore Greyhawk Iscariot, at your service! We were just getting to know eachother a little better. As for me, well... Admittedly, I may be a bit softer than some of you. Paladin training is very rigorous, but I have very little adventuring experience. Truth be told, I've spent far too long as a diplomat. Settling minor land claims and petty squabbles between the noble houses of Restov. It was all so... unfulfilling. I yearned for adventure. So when I came across the same charter you did, well, I gathered my old friend here and jumped at the chance."
The pats his Bloodrager pal on the back and hopes he's calmed down. "You see he's.... Enthusiastic. Being half-Drow, he was an outcast most of his life. Anybody bullied like that is bound to develop a temper. And interestingly enough, he's developed some innate magical skill alongside it. My family took him in some years ago, and I've tried my best to keep him out of trouble. I thought an adventure like this, out of the city, would be perfect for him to let loose a little bit."
Kay looks at Prophet up and down then smiles and looks at Theodore. [ b]"Yes I am sure you are right my friend. my baby la-vista would love to make the acquaintance of some bandits"!![/b] chugs down some more wine "yes"!! what Theodore said. Kayrel Nivah is the name and yes. I am not always welcome every where i go. People are always talking bad about me and staring at me call me names so i make face hit ground and bleed and start hacking and slashing and hacking and oh ummm yeah...I not liked vary much so lots of anger i don't know my parent never did i grow up on my own always being pushed around until l did the pushing back and after a while i started to get good at it and Learned that i liked it. then i saw this boy walk up to me and try to calm me down and talk to me and there was something about him that felt different and he took me in with his family that is all i wish to say about it i am not one for all this sapy stuff i am strong like bull tuff like dragon but ever since then i swore an owth to gard and protect him and only him so i go where he gos"
Annika raises one eyebrow at the pair. "You two make an interesting pair," she says dryly, finding the quiet diplomat and the wild warrior a strange combination. "Still, it's good to have more help. It's a pleasure to meet both of you." She looks at the loud warrior. "And whatever your heritage, I doubt it will matter much out here, so you'll have a chance to prove yourself based on skill over anything else."
As the group continues to talk amongst themselves, they begin to hear a bit of commotion from the trading post outside. From the sound of it, it seems Oleg has gotten into some sort of argument with a new guest. While hard to make out, the argument quickly becomes clearer as he throws open the door, sweating and aggravated. He looks to the party, then begins to shout. "What's this sh*t I'm hearing about the patrol? None of you know what's going on, do you? For f*ck's sake, this is why I took the job to turn this place into a trading post, to get away from politics like this." He grumbles to himself for a moment, wiping his face off again with a piece of cloth. After a moment, he clears his throat and continues. "The last of your damned friends showed up, told me he hasn't got the faintest idea about any patrol comin' this way. They didn't tell you a f*ckin' thing, did they?"
As Oleg continues to shout, you hear a great amount of hustle from the kitchen. After a few moments, she rushes out towards Oleg and grabs his arm, and pleads with him to stop yelling. "Honey, this won't solve anything. It's not their fault they weren't told. Why don't we just talk to them, I'm sure they'll help us."
Annika weathers Oleg's rant in silence, keeping one eye on him and looking a bit peeved. "Yes, we haven't heard anything about a patrol," she says as Svetlana tries to calm him down. "I don't really know why you're out here sir, and I really don't care. If you want to stay away from politics, that's fine but don't blame us for the actual politicians dropping the ball and not giving us the full story. Now, if you two are done being deliberately obtuse, perhaps you can tell us about this patrol and what's going on here. Then we might actually be able to help you instead of sitting here wondering what's bothering you."
Ox never thought much of himself. That's not to say he was without confidence - he wasn't - but he didn't understand what people found so intimidating about him. He surmised that it may, indeed, be his size, though he wasn't a very large man by any means. Slightly taller than the average human man, and heavier, too, but he was not huge by any stretch of the imagination. Mayhaps, he figured, that it was his violent indulgences, his aggression, his outbursts of anger. Perhaps not so physical as it mental.
But right now he looked a little different; he was shaking with adrenaline, teeming with rage. Ox, despite his anger, spoke calmly. "Anymore words come pourin' outta' your fvckin' mouth, mate, I'm gonna pull back my right hand here, yeah, and I'm gonna knock out every one'a your fvckin' teeth. How'sat, then, yeah?" And then he snapped. "RIGHT!" But just as quickly as he lost his cool, he regained it and turned to the group in the home. What a motley group that stood before him, he thought. "You remember me, yeah? Ox, mate, how's it? Sorry 'bout all that, it's just the fvckin' CVNT WON'T SHUT 'IS FVCKIN' MOUTH. Lovely, though, innit? The weather'n all that."
"They told me--those blasted governors from Restov--that a patrol's worth of guardsmen was on the way to deal with these damned bandits. About two days later, I get a letter saying that a band of "adventurers" was headed out here, looking to scout the Greenbelt. Told me you'd be able to help me out until the patrol arrived. And then you lot show up, don't know sh*t about any patrol, don't seem to know a DAMNED thing about Happs and his f*ckin' band of brigands that have been terrorizing me for months! And then this son of a b*tch," he says, gesturing angrily to Oxwalder, "Strolls on in and threatens to knock my teeth in! No better than the damned bandts!"
Clearly angry, Oleg finishes his tirade with a finger pointed menacingly at Oxwalder, panting heavily. After taking a breath, he makes a fist and slams it down on the dining room table. "I will not be played for a fool--not by you, or those damned bureaucrats, and certainly not by that bastard Happs! If you won't solve it, I will." With that, he storms off into another part of the house, despite Svetlana attempting to have him stay.
"I'm very sorry for my husband's... temper, Svetlana begins. "We weren't aware you hadn't been told about the problems we've been having. We were told you would be willing to help us. This has all been very difficult for Oleg. He feels like he can't protect me and his livelihood from these bandits. I know this has been sprung upon you all rather suddenly, but it would mean everything to us if you could aid us."
Annika stares the man down through his tirade, remaining quite. As his hand slams against the table, she glares at him. "The only one making a fool of you is yourself," she replies coldly. "Especially when you let your temper go off on the people who have already offered you aid more than once."
She watches as he storms out. "I'll assume that he's more volatile than usual with how hard your troubles must have been on him. Pay it no mind. As I've already said, we would be happy to help. It would be callous and cruel to leave you two to face these brigands when we have the skills to deal with them. Perhaps you could tell us what these bandits have been doing, since your husband seems more interested in ranting than giving us useful information."