The approaching group of riders rounds a hill, bringing them into sight just after Franka finishes casting her spell. There are half a dozen men dressed in non-descript leathers, furs, and green / brown hoods that seems to be almost a uniform among the bandits. At the sight of the group, they pull up short, fanning out, bows at the ready. A mash-nosed bear of a man calls out, "'Ey, you! You lot from the Thorn camp? Took your bloody time, didn't yah. Whot's the password?"
He stares at you expectantly.
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"S$#@can the pleasantries, boss ain't happy," Janna grunts, flashing the Stag Lord's sigil. "Seems the team we sent to Oleg's got their heads handed to them. If ya head back to the fort now, boss will have your heads. Turn around and head back towards Oleg's. You and I each know what he does to people he's...disappointed...in. I am not going back empty-handed."
Audsley does his best to scowl.
"Password's nobility, isn't it? Easy enough."
He then leers at his most thuggish best.
Realizing that hiding would be useless, Franka joins the conversation and takes her cue from Janna. What is she getting at? Does she want them to go to Oleg's, for the men take to take care of them? Or just get them away from her, so we won't have to deal with them when we attack the fort?
"Yep, that's right. "Nobility". It seems like Oleg is really the last holdout. If you manage to swipe that, you'll have earned yourself a good place at the Stag Lord's right hand."
Emil, fearing he will slip up if he does talk, nods along as he unlimbers his lance. Really hope this works. he thinks, wincing in anticipation of the worst.
Following along with the gambit, Túrante remains quiet. Elf raiders are a rare sight; no need to draw attention to herself.
The leader of the patrol looks dubious at your transparent bluff, though the sigil and general demeanor of the group seems to put him at ease. "Allright, well, you get the booze over to the boss right quick. He's getting meaner by the day, he is."
He gestures towards the keep, and continues on his patrol.
As you approach the ruined keep, there are several things you notice.
First, there is a large palisade of wooden spikes surrounding the ruins of the keep, with an open gate of wood. There is also a gaping hole in the northern keep wall visible through it. Finally, here appears to be two levels of the keep ruins, with several wooden structures attached to the keep walls.
Second, south of the keep, there is a small cemetery on the slope leading to the lake. The cemetery is somewhat hidden by the rolling hills, so you could potentially sage there if you wished.
What are you going to do?
Emil, trying nervously to appear nonchalant, tries to get a headcount of how many bandits seem to be about.
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Once the bandits are out of earshot, Janna speaks up.
"Well, now the clock is ticking. I don't doubt Sir Garress and Oleg's ability to defend themselves, but I'd rather finish the business here and ride down those outriders before they make it back to the post. Or, with some luck, right when they arrive," he says, making a clasping hand motion to mimic a pincer attack.
"So, hit them hard and fast," Janna states, the slightest of waver in his voice. "Surprise might still be on our side."
Franka is relieved to see the bandits pass, although she gives Sera a sideways glance, not sure how the girl will take the fact that they just sent six of them on the way to Oleg's.
At Janna's suggestion she looks doubtful. "We're only with the six of us. Splitting up seems like it would hurt us more than them. Why don't we try the same ruse again? Stride up through the front door, flashing the badge? If we get a group of them confined, we attack. Otherwise we push to be led to thus Stag Lord. Cut off the head to this organization and be done with it..."
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Audsley nods nervously to Franka's suggestion.
"Aye, there are many tales where roguish groups are impressed by the arrival of a new leader who demotes the current general through a bold feat of arms. If we could demolish this Stag Lord before his men, they might be sufficiently cowed so as to do what we command."
From the sheen of sweat on his brow, however, this might amount to wishful thinking.
"Trust me Audsley, there's nothing I'd want more..."confides Emil in as low a voice as he can muster. "But I'm not going to feed your life to the fires of m... Our glory. That and it looks like we just sent a group of riders to cause trouble back at Oleg's. If anything were to happen... So, even though the cool thing to do would be to ride in there and kick some ass, I think the right thing to do is to get a better handle on those guys, on the surrounding area and then come back for Horns on the Ruins over there." he finishes, looking around for support.
"I think you are right, Janna," says Túrante in a near-whisper. "Even if we manage to defeat all the brigands here, we may well be sorely wounded and tired, and then we would still have to chase down those riders to protect Oleg. Better to intercept them at full strength, pick them off, come back later and let the bandits wonder why their men aren't returning."
"OK then," says Franka. "We'll follow at a suitable distance until we're out of sight of the keep, then catch up and run them down."
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"Didn't we just tell them we were going to the keep? Maybe we should wait until they are out of sight, then track them down. As best we can. Even if that doesn't work, we know where they are going, so we should be able to outrun them there."
The party decides to not leave a live enemy at their back, and works to set up an ambush for the bandit patrol! Turante is able to pick out an ideal location with tracks that indicate the patrol passes through, and the ambush is prepared.
The dumbfounded looks you can see in the face of the bandit patrol are almost comical. Clearly this is not a scenario that they'd ever anticipated... leaving them vulnerable and surprised!
"Yep, it's us. You've picked the wrong team, men. Don't do anything stupid..." To lend strength to her words, Franka prepares a spell. She blows cool hand on one of her hands while making some strange gestures with it. In front of her hands, the air begins to shimmer with a faint blue light. She makes a flicking motion with her hands and a dense ball of snow appears, hurtling towards the furthest bandit.
The snowball streaks past the bandit, missing him by quite a while. "That," she says pointedly, trying to cover up her terrible aim, "was just a warning shot."
Túrante reins in her horse to slow it and takes a shot with her longbow.
She remains eerily quiet as she draws and fires again.
Audsley just had time to quaff one of his mutagens, and the result is as startling as the first time; his arms grow longer, the gleam in his eye dulls somewhat, and his smile becomes more of a predatory grin. As the horsemen ride up close, he uncorks a bomb and lobs it up on high.
Franka's snowball sails wide, clearly not a good fit for the early spring weather, whereas Turante demonstrates that arrows are always in season. Janna canters back and forth on Preven, skewering one of the bandits. Audsley's bomb explodes among horse and riders, nearly causing the poor animals to rear up in pain! One of the bandits falls over to the ground under the barrage of attacks.
Emil pushes Flora forward, a look of grim determination on his face. "Surrender!" he bellows, thrusting his spear into the other bandit's face.
I wish this was an open field, but wishes are for children on birthdays and superstitious old crones. With a silent snarl he thrusts again at the leading man.
But the blow is easily deflected. Why are you making all the rookie mistakes Emil? Why don't you just put up a sign that says "Hey, here's my spear, please take care not to get hit by it!" he thinks to himself as he guides his mare back a few feet.
The remaining bandit gasps as he sees his companions cut down in a matter of seconds. Frantically urging his horse to turn around back down the path he came, he clearly looks to be trying to escape.
Rather than steering her mount up the slope, Franka instead guides him on a straight path towards the bandit. She stands up in the stirrups for height and tries to get a good look at the bandit. "Hold it, right there," she says more to herself than anyone else. She makes the gestures that she has used before to pierce the Veil, but sweat beads on her forehead as she strains to create the right further away. She tries to summon a slick coating on the ground, just under the escaping bandit.
Emil rides on up after the bandit, spurring Flora as they race on after him.
"Hey! Surrender means stop you a*+###$!" he yells.
Túrante draws back her bow. "Once chance to surrender," she shouts clearly.
The horse the remaining bandit is riding rears up as a sudden slick coating of grease causes it to lose traction, but continue on at the urging of its master, who spurs it hard and attempts to escape around a bend in the hills.
Turante and Janna's arrows goes flying out, one stinging across the man's shoulder, the other clattering against the stones. Emil urges his own mount to follow, close but agonizingly far away!
In a "Hail Desna" throw, Audsley tosses one final bomb as the bandit is about to turn out of sight. The Bomb sails through the air silently, loftily, an utter work of artistry as it hangs in defiance of gravity... before exploding into the back of the bandit's head, splitting it like a melon.
There is an awkward silence for a moment, before the milling unmounted horses whinny in pain and confusion.
"Oleg and Svetlana will remain safe for another day. Let's see if these brigands had any other notes or evidence of malfeasance."
Emil reins Flora in. "Abadar on high! Audsley, what did you do to this guy?" he yells back o the group, his face shifting between incredulity and horror.
A few moments later, having calmed down and settled a rather nervous Flora, he grabs hold of the headless man's horse by the reins and slowly trots back towards the others. I hope noone else has seen this. Gods on high, give us enough time to keep them safe.
The effects of the mutagen dissipate, and Audsley resumes his normal form, arms shortening, his girth roundening, his face regaining its normal avid curiosity and mirth.
Yet at the sight of the fallen man, and Emil's horror, he hurries over and stares down, aghast.
"I - yes, it is rather awful, isn't it? Violence. But - I had to stop him, didn't I? From bringing word to the fort? A perfect throw - perhaps it would have been better to detonate beside him, and thus usher him from this mortal coil in a marginally less spectacular fashion?"
Wringing his hands he sighs and sits down on a rock. "Bombs are never going to be neat and tidy like a one-inch stab wound, I fear. And mine are only growing to become more combustible. Oh dear."
Franka looks shocked at the carnage caused by Audsley's bomb. She turns away, about to sick up. That was horrible. Or were we any better? The others are just as dead... She tries to keep her mind off the gore, guiding Heimdall to round up the scared horses.
When that's done she approaches Audsley, concern showing on her face. "Audsley, we have to talk about this," she says in a flat voice. "Later, when we have some rest."
She then turns to Janna's suggestions. "Yes, I agree we have to push on now, even if my appetite for the work is gone for the moment. We turn back again, towards the Stag Lord's 'keep'?"
"Very well," Túrante agrees. "Fortune has been with us so far." Her eyes flicker across the other members of the team, leaving her thoughts to interpretation. Whether she is bothered, unsettled, upset, or just bored, her face does not reveal, instead with that same inscrutable mask of sharp elven features.
Turning back towards the keep, the hour begins to draw into the late afternoon. The imposing barricade around the Keep raises two stories tall, and the gate is currently closed.
Audsley pauses at the sight of the intimidating wall.
"We've done well against them so far when fighting in small groups. What if we try another bluff? Say our patrol was ambushed, and try to draw a rescue team out with us? Then we turn on them, overwhelm them, and reduce the fort's forces even further?"
"No," Franka says, quite determined. "I've had my fill of bluffs, of luring small groups of bandits to their death. They might have been pillaging the land here, but they don't deserve that. Many might just be unlucky folk who made some unfortunate choices. I say we go in under the sign of the Stag Lord. Flash the amulet, demand to meet him and put things to rest right there. The others will scatter once the leadership is dealt with."
She looked fierce at the speech, but only seems to realize what that might entail once she's finished talking. "Emil, Janna, if you agree of course," she backtracks. "It might turn out disastrous, if we're surrounded and the rest don't budge, if their morale holds and they want revenge..."
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"If this goes wrong, we have no exit strategy beyond 'try not to die,' you know that?" Janna asks, with a hit of doubt. "We'll be surrounded, outnumbered, and cramped. Unless it works perfectly, it goes horribly wrong. I agree, it's a great strategy if it works. I'm game."
Janna pauses for a moment, making eye contact with everyone present. "But everyone needs to know that if the plan fails, we will likely all be in a 'fight or die' situation. It won't be pretty."
"I agree, I'm concerned that we don't have a clear indication of what, exactly, we will be facing. If we find ourselves outnumbered three-to-one by hardened veterans, this will quickly become a problem."
Emil scraches his head, clearly of two minds. "Gods above, below and beyond Janna; you're right, but there has to be a better way for you to put it. But... Like I said. You're right."
He sighs, frustrated. "I have no fear of dying in a blaze of glory. But if I am going to meet my ancestors, I think I'd like to tell them I didn't lead my companions... My friends... To certain death." He awkwardly makes a self-deprecating shrug, complete with it's own half-smile.
"So Turanthe... How do you figure we could scout this out? Actually, my question should probably be "How do you scout?" I won't leave you on your own, but I... er... Well... Noone has ever called me "discrete"." he finishes, coughing awkwardly.
Franka nods in resignation. "You are right. In heroic tales, the bold approach always works. I suppose that's only the case because if it the bold approach fails, there's no one left to tell the tale..." She's silent for a while, mulling over the implications of that thought. Eventually she snaps back to the present.
"I'm no tactician, but that means we should be more careful, make sure we have a way out if things go bad. I'm afraid it also means we'll have to deal with smaller groups of bandits. Maybe even without them getting a chance to sound the alarm."
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Audsely grumbles and kicks a stone. "I don't know why our only option is 'fight or die'. We really could just lure a bunch of them out and kill them too. I mean, they're living in the Stag Lord's personal fort. Makes much more sense to me." He's pretty sure at this point that nobody's listening to him, however.
With only a rough plan on how to proceed, you approach what has been looming in your mind, the ruined Keep. From behind the closed gate raised a challenge: "What business do you have in the Stag Lord's domain?" Another, higher pitched voice adds, "Do you have the booze we sent for?"
Franka doesn't answer the call, leaving that to one of the others. She does reach for the Stag Lord amulet and holds it up, clear to see.
"What do we do, she hisses at the others under her breath. "Engage with them as soon as we're inside, so they can't close the gate behind us? That way, there's always the option to retreat."
Túrante says, "Let's just make sure we have an idea of our best exit, and are ready to make a line for it if needed. Um, do we still have that case of green alcohol that we found? Or did we unload that at Oleg's? Regardless, let's see if we can spot the Stag Lord, and if so, then he would be the principal target." The elf looks a bit uncomfortable, as if she's not quite sure how to mitigate the risks of this gambit.
Audsley stands in the back, shaking his head and quaffing potions.