Emil trots on back towards the group with a smile that quickly vanishes as he realizes that now, there are prisoners to deal with. What the heck do we do with these people? Snapping back to reality, he replies to Janna "Well looks like no one on our side got hurt. Glad we got their horses, this is going to make getting around here easy. Lets just hope they aren't the usual half-breeds that end up being the steeds for the likes of them. Btu speaking of the brigands... What do we do? It's not like we can just let them go after what they've been doing but..." An image comes unbidden, of a Last Blade flashing down to silence the cries of a young boy, an alleged traitor to the Revolution. Emil snaps out of it, quickly, adding precipitously "We can't just go around killing people just because they are thieves, that's just wrong, I mean I know that's how it's done in some places but those places aren't places I'd like to live in and... Ahem. What I'm trying to say is, the punishment has be on the same level as teh crime, doesn't it?"
Franka thrusts her spear in the ground and swings out of the saddle in a smooth motion. She bends over the figure of the bandit's leader, making sure he doesn't perish from his wounds. "There. I'm sure we'll have some questions for him later."
She looks proud at Audsley. "Well done, those were quite... effective." She taps o the breastplate made of ice. "I'm fine, not a scratch. "
She then joins the others, listening to the discussion of what to do with the prisoners. "If I may make a suggestion... Executing them seems rather excessive, but we don't have the luxury of putting them in jail somewhere. I have some experience with those kind of circumstances, up north. There are regions where a first offense would earn a scar, either visible or in an inconspicuous place. We can let the bandits go then, telling them to leave and find gainful employment in Brevoy. If we ever find them again, though, we'll recognize them by the scar, and we can let them know that there won't be any third chances..."
She thinks for a second. "As an example, a cut across the forearm would do. It could be hidden with normal sleeves, so they would not be stigmatized anywhere. But if we find them again, with this Stag Lord for instance, they'll know they're in trouble." As an afterthought, she adds "Oh yes, there was usually salt involved to make sure the scar really stayed, but I always thought that was rather unnecessary..."
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Sera quickly hurried down to ground level, practically ignoring the ladder as she bounded down in excitement. The target of her excitement soon becomes obvious as she rushes toward Oleg, nearly tackling him with a hug. "We did it! We did it!" Sera bounced happily in celebration, laughing and grinning ear to ear. It wasn't long before Zev joined in as well, standing on his hind legs, propping himself up against Oleg, and looking up at him expectantly.
As she catches sight of the others gathered around the dying bandits, Sera's celebration takes a somber turn. Her attention turns back to Oleg, looking to him for guidance. "We can't just let them die can we? It doesn't feel right." Without waiting for the reply, Sera cautiously steps forward, ready to use the knowledge she has in first aid and potentially even what little healing magic she has to save the dying men.
Audsley nods to all the suggestions that execution be avoided.
"If I may be so bold, and I have zero experience with disciplining any kind of criminal beyond a pantry thief, I would think it imprudent to let them go free before we have dealt with the Stag Lord. Don't you think? The temptation that they might simply run back to him in the hopes of revenge might prove too much for them. Do you think we could hold them prisoner only while we deal with him?"
He blinks owlishly at one member of the group then the other. "It would also serve to doubly impress them with the fact that we are not to be trifled with. Yes?"
Between the mundane and magical aid the druids provide, and sheer stubbornness to live, all the bandits are able to be stabilized. The leader, which one of the bandits refers to as "Happs" also lives, but he glowers silently at you, his otherwise bland face marred by a broken nose.
Oleg is somewhat skeptical about watching over all the bandits. ”The Trading Post isn’t really set up to serve as a prison and I don’t want to risk Svetlana or my livelihood looking after people that threatened to kill me. A few of them don’t look like they’re going anywhere fast without healing so I can keep them a day or two to give you some lead time, but once they’re getting healthy I’ll have to turn them out.”
Audsley steps up before the bandits and stares down at them with what he hopes is his most disapproving glare. Hands on his hips, he shakes his head and tuts his tongue.
"Now, really, what kind of livelihood is this, going around and hurting other people and taking their hard-earned goods? Shameful. Really, it just shouldn't be done. You should all take a good, hard look at how you got to where you are today, and be grateful we aren't a murderous pack of killers! For if we were! Well, we would do things to you with knives and with - and with hot pokers - that would make you rue the day you decided to break the law!"
He nods vigorously and turns to Emil and Turante, waiting for one of them to pick up the thread, confident that he's laid the groundwork for them with superlative skill.
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"Back in Restov, they'd be in a dungeon, or maybe in ropes by now," Janna mentions, motioning to his neck. "Though we're not in Restov. It might not feel right, Sera, but it's safer to the citizenry here to not have to worry about prisoners escaping and wreaking havoc on the way out."
Looking to the rest of the group, and certainly willing to accept a logistically plausible option other than executing bandits, Janna continues, "Is a simple scar punitive enough to actually stop bandits up north, Franka? Maybe it's easier further away from the River Kingdoms, but the Rostland can't afford the patience for letting someone make the same mistake twice."
Franka listens to the others, finally replying to Janna's concerns. "Well, it's not so much the scar, as it is the threat of further punishment. For petty theft, the scar would be on one or more fingers of the left hand. For serious theft, the left forearm. For assault, the right forearm. Attempted murder, the neck. Then, for the second offense, the blade goes clean across the scar. It isn't pretty, but it worked for them." She's trying to think of how to phrase the next part.
"These people have turned to banditry, which is wrong. No doubt about it. But conditions here are pretty rough, and there's never been a law until now. Sentencing them to hang now just isn't right. I'd say these people deserve to go with a second chance. Also, if word gets out that we hang every bandit we catch, they'll all be determined to fight 'till the last. So this is what I propose: We'll state that we're here to sweep the Stolen Lands clean. We'll hear what they have to say, either to plead their case or about this Stag Lord, then announce them guilty of banditry and extortion. We declare their possessions forfeit and explain that we want them out of here. We'll give them the scar, explain what it means and send them off with two days of rations and a dagger." She tries to gauge her new companion's reactions.
"It's not ideal, but it's the best that I can come up with. It all relies on the delivery, though. We have to let them see that we're lenient, that it's in their best interest to start over, and that they definately don't have a future here in the Stolen Lands. I'm willing to do the deed, if someone else can talk to them and make them see that. I don't think they'll take the message from me..."
While the bandits hear their sentence, Franka starts a fire. She puts her dagger in the flames to heat the blade. We can't have them dying of infection. Now, be strict and firm. Channel the severity of Chief Perun. He always gave me the creeps, and I wasn't even the one on trial... Be firm! She grabs the left arm from the first bandit to be sent to her, and pulls up his sleeve. "You've been told what this means. We have no further quarrel with you, but we will not see you here again." She then clenches her jaw, grips the man's hand and traces the red-hot dagger lightly across his forearm. "We're done here. Go..."
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Túrante gestures aside, away from the bandits, and says, "Let us step over here, please."
"We should make sure they can't hear us while we carry out these discussions. They should not feel like they can influence us, or like we are not all in agreement on our course of action," she says with a gesture back in the direction of the bandits.
"We need to interrogate them, learn more about their group. Where are the rest of them -- the ones that Oleg saw before, who didn't come this time? Who is this 'Stag Lord,' is he real, is he their leader? Where have they been taking their stolen goods?" she continues. "We should ask them separately. We'll get different answers from them, and we should try to work out which ones are believable."
"I don't want to sway your policy unduly," she adds. "Though part of this expedition, I am an outsider, a representative of the elven court at Kyonin, and too much of my input might be seen as interference in the affairs of a sovereign nation. In Kyonin we rarely have to deal with these kinds of affairs, as the elven people are largely free spirits who are committed to a life free from strife with their neighbors. But these are hard men and women who have taken to a life of banditry either because they feel that they have no choice, or they enjoy it. We must sort the first from the second. To the first, we should give the choice of a better life; to the second, the fear that the consequences for pursuing this lifestyle will outweigh the pleasures they gain as brigands."
"Remember, too, that while you may flinch from executing these bandits, they are responsible for more than what we have seen here. Some of these men have threatened Oleg before. Some of them may have stolen and murdered from other merchants or woodsmen in this region. Just because the only thing we personally have seen is their inept attempt to fight us off, does not mean that they are not guilty of a multitude of crimes. I do not advocate assuming that they are all guilty, especially without evidence, but we cannot forget that there is a strong likelihood that many of them are culpable in other acts."
She takes a breath and finishes, "My final thought is this: Marking them, as Franka has proposed, has merit. It is similar to the exile that we enforce in Kyonin for serious offenses. The mark serves to let the law know that these men have committed crimes before, and if they are caught again, the consequences will be severe. For the leaders... we may need to be harsher. I do not relish killing and I do not wish to enforce my standards on others. But leaders must be responsible for their acts and for the acts of their people. By example, leaders drive their followers to behave as they do. So the leaders must take the consequences of those acts. If we decide that there is guilt, severe enough to merit an execution, then I believe that we make an example of the leaders. This might also encourage other bandits to desert their cause or to surrender, knowing that the rank-and-file may find leniency if captured, but the leaders will be eliminated."
"I will speak with them if it is desirable, but I feel uncomfortable in pretending that I represent 'the will of the group.' Perhaps Emil, you should do so? You have history in Brevoy, you have military background and thus a record of service. You are familiar with law and custom and your voice has the weight of that authority."
Túrante's eloquent and wise words have Franka nodding and dropping into a curtsy before she realizes it, her hands dropping down by her sides to find skirts that aren't there.
She blushes in embarrassment, stammering "yes, that seems like a good idea, Emil."
"I'm sorry for... that," she adds to Túrante in acknowledgement of her faux pas.
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Emil dismounts and follows Turante with the others, out of earshot of the bandits, taking his waterskin out for a cool, refreshing drink.
"Perhaps Emil, you should do so? You have history in Brevoy, you have military background and thus a record of service. You are familiar with law and custom and your voice has the weight of that authority."
As it turned out, the water was cool, but refreshing... In the immediate aftermath of the boy choking and shooting water from his nose in surprise, refreshing was not a word that came to mind.
"*cough*Wha...? I'm only slightly Brevish and that's because you can't that much to a *cough* bastard. And I *hack* I don't think they care about how good of a squire I was.
He pauses for a moment to wipe his face. "But ... I suppose I could do that. I've learned to talk to people along the way." He turns to Janna. "And no it didn't always end up with me laying face down in ... Well, you know." Turning back to the rest of the group he asks: "So, when do you want to tell them that no matter what they do, their leader is a dead man walking? Unless you want to bring them somewhere isolated one at a time and see what they can tell us individually and then make an announcement. Anyone here capable of telling if someone is lying?" He stops to think for an instant before shaking his head. "This is a little too far above me; the rest of you should figure out what we want to ask them, and what we plan on doing to those who plan on abandoning the Stag Lord and those who won't. You know... The details of what and how you want me to talk to these guys. Never been good at planning for all the details."
Seeing Emil dither, Franka stands up to him and holds him by the shoulders. "It has to be you, Emil... I can only speak for myself when I say I hadn't realized we would be put in this position. Still, we've talked it over and I think there's consensus, sort of. Sera and Audrey are for letting all of them go. Lady Túrante argued for the death penalty for just the leader, and I... agree with her. Janna was mostly concerned with the risk they would pose."
She looks around the group. "The concensus holds that the bandit followers will go free, after they've told us what they know. Emil, I'm confident that you'll be able to convince them not to fall into old habits. As for the leader, we're split about even on his sentence. Talk with him, and come to your decision. We'll support you either way in this."
"Oh, something I just realized. They weren't carrying lots of food and water. There should be a camp for them, somewhere close. Ask them about it. That knowledge should give you some leverage. "
"I will add my voice to your own if you wish, Emil, but I can't take the lead, for reasons previously mentioned. When it comes time to find their encampment, I can probably backtrack their trail."
Trying to gather more information from the wounded bandits, it’s clear that the group is far from cohesive. They appear to come from a mix of nationalities and backgrounds: a few profess to have only turned to banditry as a means of survival, a couple seem to have been on the wrong side of the law more than once. There is even one vocal patriotic River Kingdoms kleptocrat that tries to convince you that banditry is his civic duty. ”You have what you hold! That’s the core tenant of the River Kingdoms!”
The bandits all profess (with varying degrees of sincerity) that they are all acting under the authority known as “The Stag Lord” that has been organizing similar men and women that are cast off from society. None of them have seen him personally and they say that only the leader of their group (a foul tempered woman named Kressle) claims to have met him. From the description of her, she is likely the woman that initially lead the bandits the first time they threatened Oleg.
Kressle commands roughly a dozen men from a camp in the Narlmarches.
They require further assurances of their safe release before they are willing to divulge further.
The bandits operate from a camp on the Thorn River, roughly two days south of the Trading Post, at the border of the Narlmarches and the Kameland Hills. ”Go South until you reach the Thorn River, and follow it down-stream”
The silver stag amulet is given to the Lieutenants of the Stag Lord. He doesn’t know what it signifies further.
Sera crossed her arms as she looked down at the bandits, her face scrunched up in disdain. "No, you have what you earn. You're welcome by the way. People usually say 'thank you' when you save their lives, you know, especially when we had every right to just let you lay there and die." Sera spun around on her heel with a 'Hmph' and moved to confer with the group.
"This Stag Lord business almost sounds like a cult. A bunch of 'he said, she said' about a figurehead that no one has even met and might not even be real. I doubt any of them would be willing to die for that. I don't feel comfortable just letting them walk away though. Maybe we could hand them over to Knight Captain Garrek?" Sera shrugged at her own suggestion, unsure of how Brevic law worked or if the politics of the situation allowed such a solution. "Can't keep them here at any rate. And I'd rather not paint a target on this fort by letting them run off and tell their friends what happened here."
Although the bandits lead by this "Stag Lord" are perhaps the largest threat currently facing Oleg's Trading Post and the Greenbelt, there are other concerns as well that Oleg and Svetlana explain to the group.
--
with the bandits dealt with for now, Franka follows Sera along to Svetlana. The woman's request has here grinning, but she knows enough to keep her face straight. "These Narlmarches sound interesting, and the other bandits mentioned them as well. If we find our way there, I'll be sure to keep an eye out." With a smile, she adds "I think you've been blessed with the life you lead here, and I applaud your tenacity. If I can help your happiness in any way, it would be my pleasure."
--
Back with the others, Franka tries reflects on what they've learned. "I think out first priority should be to look further into the bandits. If this woman named Kressle find that her band of bandits doesn't return, she might investigate. We'd better head that way, first. These kobolds also sound worth meeting. Oleg, I've been hearing about a couple of landmarks here: The Kamelands is due south, while the Narlmarches are south and west. Is that correct?"
Sera arched an eyebrow in confusion at Svetlana's request. "Moonradishes? But those are for..." Sera's eyes suddenly went wide in realization as a hint of red rushed to her cheeks. "Oh." There were a thousand questions Sera wanted to ask but somehow simultaneously didn't want to know the answer to. Instead she just nervously scratched behind her head and offered an uneasy laugh. "Umm...yeah. I guess it can't hurt, right?"
***
Sera perked up slightly at Franka's train of thought. "Dealing with the camp could solve two problems at once. If there's no camp to return to, then letting the bandits go becomes much less of a problem. It sounds like a good idea to me."
Having talked to the foot-soldiers, Emil readies himself for the inevitable. "Anyone want to try and talk to the leader, it's now or never."
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Quick and clean; that's what Emil hope he has given the man. The leader of the group spat and cursed; that much was nothing new. Being an executioner. Now that was. Keeping his eyes open as he did the deed was the hardest part. This is murder. Sanctioned murder, but murder nonetheless. Oh yes, you don't know half of what he's done, and he probably deserved this. But this isn't your way he thought grimly as he wiped his sword and started looking around for something that could serve as a brand. Better figure out what your way is before you have to do this again.
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The survivors branded and sent on their merry way, Emil contemplated his bowl of soup as the others discussed the next move over lunch. Finally, something in Sera's voice snapped him back to reality. "Sorry, what? Oh, yeah. I agree with the two of you. The pig will keep and so will the kobolds, at least right now. But word of this gets back to that woman and Oleg and Svetlana are in for "a visit to the garden" as they say in Galt. So... Uh..." he continues with a growing baffled look. "How do we get there and how long do you girls think it'll take? And Audsley, since it sounds like you are super smart, what are we going to need to take so that we don't spend the next few weeks hungry and thirsty?"
Túrante has no reaction to the request for moon radishes, though she almost certainly knows what they are.
~~~~~~~~~~
Túrante sits next to Emil and as he woolgathers, she puts a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. And thank you." Her large, otherworldly eyes seem to contain a vast wellspring of sensation, as if she somehow knows what Emil is feeling.
"Anyway, it's impossible to know how long it will take to reach; the directions were very vague. Once we reach the river and follow it, it could be minutes or it could be miles. But we will certainly need several days of provisions. And if we want to get to the bandit camp before word reaches them of our arrival, we should head there straightaway, rather than stopping to make maps and surveys."
Audsley is as morose as Emil; he watches him execute the bandit leader from high up on the trading post wall, trying to keep his face neutral but failing. He doesn't come down for a good hour after that, simply pacing the wall's length and gazing out at the distant hills, muttering to himself and fingering his various vials.
When he does descend, he's more self-effacing than usual, muttering apologies and startling over the slightest things. He sits at the table and stirs his food with his fork, not actually eating any of it, and when Emil calls on him by name, he lets his fork fall with a clatter before picking it hurriedly back up again.
"Need to take? In terms of provisions? I - yes. Turante has the right of it. Precautions should be taken. We could and should use the bandit's horses to carry extra supplies."
He subsides once more, and then gives a final nod as an afterthought. [b]"A direct strike would be best. No time wasted on anything else. Once this Kressle has been dealth with, well, yes. Quite." He resumes stirring his food.
After the execution of Happs, the bandit leader, there is a somber air in the Trading Post. Svetlana buried her face in her hands, sobbing, though Oleg seemed to take a grim satisfaction in it. Several of the other bandits seem oddly relieved that their former leader was slain and it certainly impresses upon them the seriousness of needing to stay as far away as possible; you don't get the feeling that any of them had enough loyalty to the man to seek revenge.
That unpleasantness settled, the question of where to go next still needs to be resolved.
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While Janna wonders if we are perhaps a bit too lenient, precedent has been set for our newfound charter.
"Regardless, Happ here is not the only bandit leader in the area. This Kressle lady is job 1, lest she smell an opportunity where her partner in crime fell short. If enough..." he pauses as if searching for a word. "If enough respected members of these bandit societies turn up without their heads the footmen may get an idea to turn their banditry elsewhere."
Which is almost a solution, even.
Janna shakes the doubts out of his head and moves on to a less unfamiliar subject- -tactics.
"Assault at night is tactically sound. We may be able to neutralize a bit of their defense before they know they're being attacked. But Lady Túrante is correct- -reconnaissance should be our first objective. To assault a stronghold is far more difficult than to defend a stronghold. Planless assault is suicide."
Franka puts a hand on Emil's shoulder in passing, after she is done with branding the remaining bandits. She spends the next hour or so in solitude, reading and writing in a journal. After that, she can be seen walking around the compound in a haphazard fashion, seemingly 'feeling' her way with her arms outstretched. When she's finished, she goes about ordering the bandit's items, putting everything in piles.
Over their next meal, she shares her findings. "There's enough provisions to last us and our horses for two days. That's enough for the trek to the camp, but not back. And it doesn't include the pack horses. Oleg, will you take some of the equipment from the bandit's and a small amount of gold for some extra provisions, if you can spare them?"
"Depends how much scouting we can get done without being seen. Otherwise, going in in the middle of the night might be a problem; I don't think any of us can see in the dark just yet." Emil offers, trying clumsily to lift the group's spirits.
"I've been told I see pretty well in the dark. I was never good at stalking, though."
"We don't seem to be set up for sneaking around, precisely, but we might be able to learn something by observing tracks, amount of smoke at cooking times, and how much noise they make," Túrante says. "Perhaps one of you has magical means of scrying upon them as well?"
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"Nothing on the magic end, here, but observation doesn't require fancy sorcery," Janna nods to Túrante. "If we can get an idea of how many to expect, we can come up with a better plan than strolling in and knocking on the front door." Janna mimics a bow being fired. "Lest we fall into the same trap that the bandits did."
You travel for two half-days into the Narlmarches, making an uneventful stop the first night. As you approach where you believe the Bandit camp might be, the unusually sharp eyes of Emil note where a small watchtower pokes from the dense tree-cover.
Places along the river are shallow enough to ford the river with little difficulty.
Túrante makes the same shot as Janna but heads in a different direction.
Sera and Zev both move forward, sticking low to the ground and doing their best to use the cover of night and foliage. Zev uses his natural swiftness to move ahead while Sera joins Túrante in assaulting the lone watchman.
Franka guides her mount across the stream, letting it find its own way, close to Emil, to avoid the treacherous rocks. She pulls one of her short spears from the loop fastening them to her saddle, and hurls it at the bandit in the watchtower.
Under the assault of spear, sling, and arrow, the gravely wounded bandit cries out, "Under Attack! To Arms!" that is echoed to the west. There is a mixture of confused shouting beyond the tree copses to the West, with a low female voice cutting them off with "Quiet, you louts!"
The bandit in the watchtower shoots at the elven princess, but his heart clearly isn't in it. After taking the shot he moves back a step and dives to the rough wooden floor to reduce his profile.
Túrante stows her longbow and bounds to the platform in an attempt to get up the rope ladder.
The rope twists out of her grip as she's partway up, and she falls hard.
Sera curses under her breath when the bandit makes his call of alarm. It seemed like things weren't going to go as smoothly as they had back at Oleg's this time around.
When Túrante falls during her attempt to scale the tower, Zev is the first to scramble to her side, nudging her with his muzzle to urge the elf to her feet before turning back toward the encroaching voices and adopting a protective stance. Meanwhile, Sera puts her back to the tree and crouches down, waiting for the unseen bandits to give her an opening.
Creeping up through the bushes, Audsley pauses before the fighting breaks out to quaff a number of potions. He hesitates before drinking the first, a slender vial of light blue liquid, but then downs it in one go. For a moment nothing happens, and then suddenly he shivers, his eyes growing brighter, his arms longer, his whole form reinforced and bulkier. Gaining an inch in height and moving with suddenly greater alacrity, he doesn't hesitate in drinking three more potions, one after the other.
Prepared, alert, and suddenly fiercely focused, he moves in after the others.
When the yells and screams break out, Audsely hurries forward, a bomb clutched in one hand. Sighting at the bandit who gave the cry, he heaves the bomb up and through the air at him.
"We're going to have trouble from that way," says Franka as she motions to the west.
"Let me deal with that coward up there," she adds as she lets her hands feel at something that can't be seen. "The Veil is thin here, I should be able to summon some help from the Æther." Franka's hands keep moving, then seeming to 'grab' at something. While she kneads and tear at the invisible object she starts chanting, humming a string of nonsensical syllables vibrating deep in her throat, that are occasionally interrupted with a short series of shrill shrieks.
Franka steers Heimdall to the west, leading him to a spot where a tree has fallen and cracked. She unties the sling from her belt and loads a round pebble in it. Yikes, now they have the time to prepare, and we're trying to attack their home turf. Let's hope they weren't expecting anyone to attack them here, or Janna could turn out to be right and things could get ugly.
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This one needs to be neutralized before his friends get here.
Janna lowers his bow, and re-aims, deliberately remembering numerous archery lessons, hoping for a better result than the hip-fire of before.
A deep breath, a smooth pull, a stable release.
"...and a similar result," he finishes out loud with an exasperated laugh, spurring Preven southward to intercept possible reinforcements.
Barely seen, the bandit at the top of the watchtower emits a loud scream that trails off with a note of finality.
Moving forward in a camouflaged watchpost, a bandit shoot at Franka while several others fan out through the dense underbrush.
The arrow strikes Franka in the shoulder!
Ducking his head, not even pausing to admire the plumes of flames that billow out from the watchtower, Audsley grins and hustles through the bushes, hunching low, hands occasionally almost touching the ground. His gear and vials and bottles and tools clink where they're attached to his leather armor, and his pale, thinning blonde hair falls before his spectacles, though he doesn't bother with brushing it away.
The stream appears before him, and he glances up and down river before sighting Franka on the far side. Picking his trail with care, he darts nimbly over the rushing waters, slippered feet whispering over the river rocks, and then gains the far back. Bending down so low he looks hunched, he darts forward the remaining distance and goes to ground behind a massive log.
He hunkers down and prepares another one of his bombs, and then rises and seeks an opponent. About fifty feet away he espies a bandit moving toward him. It's far, but his enhanced abilities give him confidence. Taking a deep breath, he hurls the bomb high overhead, staggering and almost falling from the force of the throw. "Bombs away," he whispers to himself, then grins as he watches the outcome.