Talia blushes red with anger as she's ignored. A fool. No more.
"A cup of dust it is, then." With a quick downward cut, Talia's longsword clangs into the bandit's sword, and then Talia pivots and twists her sword in the hopes she can separate the Stag Lord from his remaining weapon...
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Magna charges against the Stag Lord, a Torag prayer on her lips, making noise and trying to take him off balance.
Dregan is obviously stunned by the staglords words, his readied shot flies straight over the wall no where near him. Then Dregans wobbles a bit before falling into ground kneeling a little later he starts to weep uncontrollably.
As the hated Stag Lord is cut down at long last, Naralesh breathes a sigh of relief. "So goeth all bandits in the Greenbelt," he says.
Eyes bloodshot, breathing ragged, the elf looks around for any more threats. Finding none, he slumps against a wall, heart still racing. Blood soaks his tunic, though the injury is all but healed by Erastil's magic. He finds some solace in the Stag Lord's death, but he suddenly feels the dull pain in his missing eye all the more clearly. There is no one to punish anymore.
Ducking, dodging, using every desperate trick he's learned over the course of a decade's service as a Lore Warden, Vosil breathes a quiet prayer of thanks to Desna as the bandit leader misses not once, but twice.
Battered, bloody, but unbowed, he watches as Magna delivers justice with her axe; he looks wryly at Talia, standing beside him: "Well, Lady, we appear to have survived..."
Ever cautious, his whip flicks out and pulls the Stag Lord's weapon from his - hopefully lifeless - grasp.
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Edric follows on behind Magna and strikes hard.
*Will roll dice if required*
Turning to the bandits Edric roars as loudly as he can, brandishing his bloody hammer for extra effect. [larger]"Your leader is slain. Throw down your weapons or face the same fate. You will be tried fairly, if you surrender now. This is the only chance you get!"[/larger]
After his intimidate Edric will step over to Vosil and LoH.
[ooc]Now the good dice rolls...[/dice]
As Orsheval flew overhead, gaining a dim view of the proceedings, he tweeted in the darkness, speaking something to the kobold in a voice that seemed to only be understood by him. As he maneuvered around to get a decently clear shot, the dwarf landed a solid blow that seemed to stun the whole battlefield. Contemptuously, Kaalib made a disgusting sound, cleaning the caustic phlegm from his throat and spat at the former Lord of these lands. And when he saw him fall, he puffed a bit of smoke from his nostrils and looked to the men still standing to see if they listened to Edric's merciful call.
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The Stag Lord laughs out loud. He is an evil man, used to getting his way by force and savage brutality.
He moves toward Vosil, putting a boot in his chest and knocking the Varisian down, slammed against the wall. Talia's attempt to disarm him is brushed off with contemptuous ease, and his return backhand opens up a cut on her cheek and staggers her. A glob of acid hits him in the face, and he roars in fury, ducking just as a snowball flies in from Naralesh.
The Stag Lord straightens from his duck - just in time to meet the onrushing Magna. Empowered by the fury of Torag, her axe cuts a blurry streak in the torchlight. It barely slows as it cleaves his neck, sending an arc of blood and gore against the back wall and covering Vosil.
The Stag Lord's head turns over and over through the air, all things in slow motion, and lands with a 'thud' at Magna's feet. The body follows, the huge frame collapsing in on itself.
Silence, broken only by the whimpering of the blind men behind you.
It is over. The Stag Lord is no more.
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Talia lowers her hand from her face just in time to see Torag's Hammer separate the Stag Lord's head from its body. Grimacing as the bandit leaves a spout of gore across the Varisian's already ruined shirt, Talia reaches out and grabs Magna's shoulder, shaking it vigourously. "Well done, Miss Skeller. I'm pretty sure there's a knighthood in that act!" Nodding towards the simpering bandits, Talia continues. "Your thoughts, Magna? Do we trust them to become like Nat?"
Reaching down, the playwright holds her hand out to Vosil and helps the Warden to his feet. "I know not what you said to that man, but I'd like to. To drive someone into such a focused, yet murderous rage... it is a talent, Master Comarenza."
Turning, she grabs Edric as she passes. "You're very brave. No doubt Master Comarenza owes you a debt of life. As do we all."
Crouching by Dregan, gently, Talia reaches out and grabs the woodsman's hands. "We will give your brother a proper ceremony, back at Oleg's... and a burial if that is possible. If you'd like to speak of him, I'd like to know more of Ulric. We will make sure that he's part of the histories of this land."
Passing Naralesh, Talia simply gives him a pat on the shoulder and a small smile. There's nothing to be said, except, "I hope you'll accompany us back to Olegs to see Dregan's brother is put to rest, and await our hard earned award?"
Giving Asha a quick hug and thanks, Talia smiles. "Do you know what this fort is?"
Lastly, she looks to Kaalib, and smiles. "I owe you my life, now Kaalib Coaltongue, so we're very even. None of this stuff about debts to be repaid, alright? We are equals, as all friends should be."
"Now, who needs healing?"
----------------
Later, when the remaining bandits are secured, Talia having closely looked over each one, live or dead, for the features of one Falgrim Sneed, the noblewoman stands on the upper level of the ruined fort and looks out to the south.
"Perhaps we should spend the night here and deal with the zombies in the morning, before dropping the Stag Lord with Nettle on our way back to Olegs?"
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There is a storage room: This long room contains a large number of crates, bags, salvaged lumber, and food. A cot lies amid the stored goods, a small lantern sitting on a nearby crate.
The Stag Lord's room: Thick layers of animal hides insulate this room’s walls. In one corner rests a ragged bed draped with threadbare silks and thick furs. On the floor, three stout chests
serve as furniture, cluttered with empty liquor bottles. A few more bottles lie scattered about the floor, leaving the room reeking of stale alcohol. Two of the chests hold bedding and other miscellaneous items, including a bolt of burlap cloth, old clothing, an iron ring, and three crudely stitched leather masks. In the third chest, the Stag Lord keeps his best treasures. This consists of 141 gp, a polished azurite crystal worth 9 gp, a carnelian worth 80 gp, a piece of hematite worth 13 gp, a shard of obsidian worth 14 gp, a red garnet worth 100 gp, a pewter belt buckle depicting a pair of entwined succubi worth 30 gp, and a silver charm bracelet worth 60 gp.
The Armory: Though ruined walls still separate this area from the other rooms, most of the ceiling has collapsed. The only remaining bit of roof covers the inside corner. Hides strung from a wooden frame partition this corner off, creating a dry storage area. Three unlocked crates in the storage area hold 10 longbows, 260 arrows, 5 short swords, 5 spears, four 50-foot lengths of hemp rope, a set of chisels, 2 hammers, 3 tins of iron nails, and 4 suits of leather armor.
While searching through the keep, you find a hidden door that leads to an underground cellar of three rooms and a tunnel connecting them. A large amount of stolen wealth can be found in these three rooms—the bandits have been stockpiling their ill-gotten goods for months. The majority of the wealth kept here consists of mundane trade goods like pelts, furs, tobacco, iron, bronze, miscellaneous weapons and armor (none masterwork or magic), and miscellaneous adventuring gear and tools worth a combined total of 6,850 gp. In addition, one chest contains 4,500 cp, 2,052 sp, 894 gp, and 21 pp, while a large bag contains 2,900 gp in various pieces of stolen jewelry.
Vosil does his best to sound detached, but he's shaken: if not for Magna's intervention, the end was most definitely nigh. "My thanks, Shieldmaiden of Torag. A fateful blow, worthy of an epic."
He gratefully accepts Talia's assistance in standing up; he's not sure if her remark is a backhanded compliment, but he'll take it at face value. Their squabbling has been an amusing interlude, but more serious times lie ahead. Time to offer a truce. "In truth, I said nothing to him, Lady. I believe it was depriving him of his bow that spoke loudest. I am simply thankful that I wore my lucky shirt." He looks down. Damn. Going to be hell to get it clean again. But on the plus side, he's alive. So are the others. He looks around: elf, dwarf, kobold, Shoanti, Varisian, Rostlander, Issian; this victory belongs to them all.
"If I may, I'd like to propose that we take over this fortress and re-name it. My suggestion would be 'Unity'. Or 'Concord' - something to denote that we are stronger, together, than we could be, apart."
At the last, a smile, genuine and sincere, teeth flashing white in the dim light. "And yes, come morning, let's clean the place of those damn zombies!"
Nodding his assent to Talia's declaration of his debt being paid, he heartily agreed. Not only did he save Talia's life, he saved Magna's life, whether or not she'd admit it. That she went to kill the Stag Lord in glorious and gory fashion immediately thereafter was not lost to him. He was equal with them now, and friendship was definitely possible now.
"единица"He spoke simply, sounding like Yidnitsa. "It is the draconic word for what you just mentioned." the kobold intoned pointing at Vosil. "Draconic is formative of most of the places and names around Brevoy as well, officially since Choral the Conqueror formed it in the first place, and even further back than him."
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Edric's first action is to lay hands on Vosil. Nodding to Taalia as she speaks to him, he hurries round the remaining bandits, doing his best to heal them if they can be saved. Conscious bandits are disarmed and instructed to assist the other members of the party however they require. Edric promises his personal protection to anyone who behaves well and shows repentance.
Edric nods to Vosil's suggestion. "I like Unity. It is a good name, one that will inspire hope in the future. Regarding these men," he gestures vaguely behind him. "I want to offer them mercy as much as we can. If they behave and repent then I have offered them protection. If they reject my offer then I will slay them myself."
Edric, being the least injured Tank will lead the exploration of the rest of the fort, working hard through the night to secure everyone's safety. In the morning he will try to catch a couple of hours sleep and then joins the zombie hunting party with a relish.
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Magna looks at the head for a second, like not believing what she has done. Eyes focused on the late bandit one's, she mumbles softly, and almost sweetly.
"Praise Torag."
She turns to she the battle in front of her. Her allies, the blinded bandits, the fallen ones. She holds her axe on top of her head, in both of her hands, and screams.
She moves towards the surviving bandits, and get the weapons away from them. She ties them up with the nearest rope available.
"Yield! You will be judged and punished, but if you show repentance and accept your fate, maybe you will find forgiveness and peace."
She talks to Edric.
"Do not let them lose now. There will be a time for forgiveness and amends, but not now. They can try to escape, or to harm us."
She looks the tall human in his eyes.
"Thanks for being here today."
When she has time, she goes to thank the rest of his friends and allies... and Kaalib.
She goes to Naralesh and bow before him.
"Master Elf, I owe my life to your summoned creatures. I will be in your debt always."
She looks to Vosil wounds, a worried look in her beautiful face.
"You are brave. I am glad you survived, and I thank you for your help. And about that epic, don't forget to add your own bravery on it. Unity seems like a fitting name to this place, if it can be saved."
She approaches Talia, and after withholding for a second, she embraces her.
"We did it, my friend. We won!"
Her face becomes somber while she looks away.
"And whatever happens between us in the future, please always remember us like this. Together, joined in a purpose, victorious in battle. And about the brigands, we need to put them in trial, and see what happens."
Finally, she goes to Kaalib, and looks at the Kobold with a serious face.
"Today is the first day of the future. Today is the day of reckoning, when the evils that have plagued this lands are vanquished. And you, more than anybody else, have proven yourself better. You have gained my trust, and my friendship. I saw you saving me, so I will be in your debt, whenever you need me."
Edric's first action is to lay hands on Vosil.
Vosil grasps Edric's arm in the warrior's grip, wrist to wrist. "An honour to have fought alongside you, Champion of Desna. She has blessed us indeed today."
He leaves the others to decide what sort of justice any still-living bandits should receive. Justice is for those who live in the light; those who are sure of the rightness of their cause. Neither description really applies to him, but he has learned to accept that.
...
..
.
It is later. Vosil has 'liberated' a rather fine bottle of Taldan red from the loot they found: '67, an excellent vintage; but it wasn't going to keep much longer (well, at least not once Vosil had opened it). Fine wine is mellowing - generously shared, it encourages conversation rather than drunkenness; and Vosil is feeling both generous and loquacious.
"It could be done, you know. This fort - it's a good location. Near fresh water, nearby hills, woods, plains; far enough from the border that those thieving, inbred Surtova wretches won't be breathing down our necks. Rebuild it, and who knows what we could yet achieve?"
He looks around, one bushy eyebrow raised beneath the brim of his hat (the feathered plume of which has, miraculously, survived intact). "Any takers?" It is unclear whether he means for the wine, or for the concept he's proposing.
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Talia nods as Vosil explains how he took the bandit king's bow. "Well done then, Master Comarenza. You and I know some of the same tricks." Patting the scorpion whip coiled at her side, Talia continues. "I took the sneaky one's rapier. Though," the playwright continues, rubbing her split lip and frowning, "I wasn't able to take the Stag Lord's sword. Perhaps I have some technique to learn from you."
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Hugging Magna back, Talia sighs, happy that their differences have been put aside, at least for now. "Magna, you are the most fearsome warrior I've met, and I'm truly glad we're not enemies. Know that no matter our difference, I'm forever grateful to call you my friend. We'll follow your lead with the bandits."
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Taking her leave, the playwright seeks out Naralesh. "Nara, that spell you used, that conjures the flash and bang of light that blinds and outlines? Imagine what we could do if I could utilize it as well? I'll never be the mage you are, but I've got some facility with magic, and I do love lighting and special effects!"
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Later, Talia sips from her battered tin cup, thankful for the warmth the wine provides. She smirks just a bit at Vosil's mention of the Surtovas, and can't help but join in, raising her cup. "A toast, to the King! If nothing else, his is surely the finest name to ever grace one of my horses!"
Turning quiet, Talia contemplates what the Varisian is proposing. It was along the lines of what the playwright had been thinking since she'd spied the fort, and in more abstract ways, even before. Seemingly ages ago now, camped around a fire on the grasslands, a night quite a bit colder than this, and nothing but her own thoughts to keep out Gavriil's off-key singing, Talia had been struck with a question.
What next? If they were successful, and they map the lands and disperse the bandit menace, what next? Something must be done with the Greenbelt, lest it revert to anarchy and banditry.
And besides that, shouldn't she - shouldn't they - be rewarded?
"It is a good sight, for all the reasons you mention. But, we'll need some legitimacy, and we'll need to make our claim quickly, lest some ambitious usurper from the north - or south, Mivon's not too far, if my geography is correct - decide to take it."
"The first step is to get you three - Kaalib, Edric, Vosil - added to our charter. I'll amend it with my next report and send a new copy north, so that you have official responsibility in the eyes of the Swordlords. We'll have impartial Oleg and our priest of Erastil bear witness."
"Then, we need to claim the Greenbelt, even if in name only, so that anyone else who thinks about taking it will know they'll have a fight on their hands."
"And if someone comes looking for a fight, we'll need to give it to them. We need bodies - soldiers surely, but also people. I think the quickest way to get people here is to offer them the chance at a better life."
"Think for a second of our neighbors. To the east, Iobaria, riddled with disease. To the south, petty city-states, and below them, Galt, with its permanent revolution. To the north," Talia pauses, casting Vosil a sideways glance, "That 'fiction' called Brevoy. And to the west, more petty kingdoms, barbarians, and a cursed land."
"There is, not to put too fine a point on it, a world of shit surrounding us. A world that, I'm sure, people could be enticed to leave. My proposal: anyone that swears fealty to us gets land, an arpent or two. Land they can farm themselves, or sell to another, but once fealty is sworn, it is theirs to do with what they want, in return for their loyalty to us, agreement to pay a fair share of taxes, and militia duty."
"Make it known that one can build a better life here, and I predict that before we know it, covered wagons will stretch like ants to the horizon."
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Patting the scorpion whip coiled at her side, Talia continues. "I took the sneaky one's rapier. Though," the playwright continues, rubbing her split lip and frowning, "I wasn't able to take the Stag Lord's sword. Perhaps I have some technique to learn from you."
Vosil nods, soberly. "It was brave of you to step in and confront him, but there is, alas, a world of difference between those who dabble in violence - like the sneaky one whose rapier you took - and those who revel in it, day in and day out. For better or worse, I have fought for my life, across several continents, since before I was old enough to shave; and, but for Magna's intervention, he would still have added me to his victims." He looks Talia directly in the eye; she is not much shorter than he is. "You are skilled, and you can readily learn to defend yourself - but the instinct, the drive to move towards the clash of blades, and the brutality to be the one left standing..." He shakes his head. "I'll not teach you that. I've death enough on my conscience already."
...
Vosil's eyes gleam at Talia's words: she has taken his concept and run with it. A dominion, then? Aye, and why not... Aloud, he recites Guillaume of Galt's prologue to Henri 5: Cette fois-ci c'est personnel, les biches!, the pro-monarchist play that finally got him executed:
"O for a muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention:
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene."
He looks around. "I do trust that we shan't be dabbling in that Andoran-style democracy nonsense. So, who shall rule? State your case and be heard. I'll not, incidentally. I can better serve behind the scenes."
'Behind the scenes' sounds so much better than 'from the shadows.' Words matter.
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The next morning dawns bright and sunny, a warm spring day in the Greenbelt. The clean-up of the zombies is not so difficult with the threat of the bandits gone. The half-dozen or so zombies attack immediately when you set foot on the hill, so by luring them out, the task is soon done.
A search of the loot does not turn up Svetlana's ring. Surely the elusive piece of jewelry must be in the Greenbelt somewhere!
The interrogation of the remaining bandits turns up a useful name: one Falgrim Sneed. Wanted by Kesten for crimes in Restov, he will be very interested to see Sneed back at Oleg's. In all, it is clear these are bad men. They do not show remorse for their crimes, and spit on your representation of justice.
On a sad note, while on your zombie purge, you find the remains of Dregan's brother Ulric. He fought to the last, but was in the end overwhelmed by the undead creatures. Only the presence of the zombies kept the predators away that may have scavenged his body.
"I'm honored that you want to learn from me," Naralesh replies to Talia, sincerely touched that another spellcaster would be interested in his magic. "It would be my pleasure to teach it. I would be eager to learn of your dazzling blade illusion in turn. I've focused little on illusion magic in my studies of late and I plan to fix that deficiency."
Surveying the grounds as the party clears the fort, Naralesh reflects on Vosil's comments. "This land does need governance. Banditry will only resume unless structure is in place to stop it. It will be up to the Swordlords whether to grant us greater authority to do something about it. Their claim to these lands is strongest, despite their lack of attention to its problems until now."
"Rule? The rule of law! I am sure I can convince a good number of dwarfs to come mine what we have here. We can't ask for a better start for a safe colony on this lands. I think we can start a Dwarven kingdom here."
"I'm sure some skilled Dwarven workers would be a great boon to the area, but I doubt Brevoy would take kindly to the establishing of a colony controlled by some far-off power. We'll need to keep them on good terms - or at least at arm's length - if a government here is to survive."
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"We need to return to Oleg's. We cannot jail Sneed here indefinitely and if you wish to assuage the undead at the ford that you encountered we must take the body with us also. In terms of establishing a realm here you make a strong point Taalia. This part of the world is not known for stability and if we can provide some Desna will surely smile upon our efforts. I know little about such matters though." Edric grins widely, teeth flashing in the sunlight "I can't think of better people to learn from however!"
Leaning back on the ground, supporting his weight on his elbows, Vosil looks sceptically at Magna. "The rule of law? And would your law, let us say, extend protection to the kobolds?"
He shakes his head. "Master Naralesh is right, I fear. Brevoy would not accept a foreign power having such obvious influence this close." He sighs. "On the other hand, we do not want to be so close to Rostland that we become drawn into the civil war, when it comes. Those damn Surtovas! Why couldn't they have left well enough alone!"
"Make it known that one can build a better life here, and I predict that before we know it, covered wagons will stretch like ants to the horizon."
He looks grimly amused. "Promise them the prospect of No civil war and they'll flock here in droves. Of course, keeping that promise would be the tricky part..."
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14 Desnus 4707
The trip to Nettle's Crossing on the Shrike River is quick and uneventful. There is no sign of Davik Nettles as you slip the Stag Lord's body in the waters. The man's corpse slowly twists in the current, turning round and abut in the water. Suddenly, the undead form of Davik Nettles bursts from the water with a spray of white foam. Reaching out from where he stands, his claws sink into the body, dragging it under. A moment later, the ranseur Nettles carried floats to the surface near the shore where you stand.
15 Desnus 4707
The horns sound three times over the plains, heralding your return to Oleg's. All of the inhabitants are out to greet you, overjoyed at your safe return. Word of the Stag Lord's fall has spread fast, reaching Oleg's even before you arrived.
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"No one is really sure how we found out," Kesten says, "but yet we knew for sure this morning that you had ended the Stag Lord's reign, and were returning safely."
He takes the remaining bandits into custody, and gives a status report.
"Nothing out of the ordinary to report, Miss Talia. It's been quiet since you left. Although Nat claims he sees something in and about the farm plot. Something small, that he can't quite set eyes on. Always on the edge of his vision. He's out there now, trying to catch sight of it."
Kesten watches as his men lead the bandits away. He turns to speak. "Although we have had a prankster in our midst. No one will admit to it, but someone thinks they are quite funny."
"I'll go see if I can help Nat find out who or what it is."
Magna rides off to find Nate.
Nat is busy working in the farm plot, but clearly he is distracted. As Magna approaches, he stops working and walks over.
"Glad ta see you, Miss Magna. Heer'd that y'all was on th' way back all safe. I was jes'...." He trails off, eyes wide as he staggers back a step. He brings up his rake in a two-hand grip, looking for all the world like he's going to hit Magna on the head.
"Don' move, Miss Magna. Hold real still..."
Then a small draconian face leans in from where it appears perched on the paladin's head. The upside-down multi-hued visage is nearly nose-to-nose with her.
"Morning Magnitofera! Perlivash is happy to see you! Are you happy to see him?"
"Hi Perlivash. Stand down Nat, I know this small creature. Perlivash, what to go say hello to the others? Maybe we can get you a sweet there."
She will try to coax the small faerie dragon back to the others.
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"Ooo! Ooo! A sweet! You knows how he likes sweets, Miss Magna! Perlivash always likes sweets!" The little dragon nestles happily in Magna's hair, ever the conquering hero as she rides back in through the gate. Nat follows, rake in hand and a clear look of doubt on his face.
Perlivash greets everyone as he rides along. "Hello Miss Talia! Hello Mister Dregan! Hello Mister Naralesh! Hello hello new faces! Tyg told me what happened! Tyg saw it all!" The pseudo dragon chortles enthusastically. Just as quickly he turns sober. "Miss Talia, we saw Mister Gavriil, yes we did. He did not come back. Rode away he did. Maybe you do not kiss so good?"
It takes some time to get it from him - and no small amount of sweets from the kitchen, but it turns out he and Tyg-Titter-Tut have been following you and watching. When you set out for the fort, Tyg followed along, while Perlivash stayed here. They kept in communication, but Perlivash grew bored, apparently after a whole hour of waiting.
Regardless, the news of your success reaching the post so fast was due to the little dragon's whisperings in the night. As for the pranks, he apologizes to Oleg - who growls - and to Svetlana - who just laughs gaily and feeds him more sweet cakes.
"Tyg won't come," he says sadly to questions, "too shy. Too shy."
Magna flinch a little when the tiny creature calls her Magna.
"Magnitofera is my name, Perlivash, if you don't mind."
"Perlivash, you and Tyg-Titter-Tut must be careful who you play with. Besides that, are there any news of the lands? Have you seen more bandits?"
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"Miss Talia, we saw Mister Gavriil, yes we did. He did not come back. Rode away he did. Maybe you do not kiss so good?"
Vosil is deeply grateful for all those months he spent on a Sczarni caravan, playing cards; the ability to maintain a blank expression has rarely been more necessary. A solitary raised eyebrow is the only outward sign of his inward mirth - he carefully and studiously avoids making eye contact with Talia.
Even apart from that, he is delighted to meet Perlivash, and spends some time trying to converse in the language of the fey, which he speaks only hesitantly.
"I am sorry not to meet Tyg, Master Perlivash - I have a question for the both of you. A very sad question."
Vosil sighs, only slightly theatrically. "We found a nogoodverybad thing, Perlivash." He intentionally tries to mimic the tiny dragon's form of speech. "A murdered unicorn, killed by dark magic! Do you know who could have done such an evil nogoodverybad thing as that? And why?"
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When Magna speaks her mind about her preferred moniker, Perlivash twists his long neck to go nose-to-nose and get his upside-down view of the dwarf. He tilts his head first to one side, then the other, much like a dog who is trying to figure out what it is hearing.
"But Miss Magna," he says, clearly enjoying her reaction, 'Magnitofera takes so long to say! Miss Magna is very short...like you!" And he collapses on her head, convulsed with laughter at his own joke.
After a minute, he brings himself under control. "No, no bandits at all. We have seen none." He does seem generally puzzled about her warning. "Big ones must not be mad. Tyg and Perlivash do not mean harm. Just fun for all!"
But Vosil's question stops the dragon's mirth cold. He cowers down deeper into Magna's hair, tiny claws scratching her scalp as he digs in.
"Do not ask. No, do not ask. She did it. Because she could. No reason. No reason at all. Perlivash saw. He saw. She saw Perlivash, but he flew away. Fast as fast can be. He did not go back. Not ever."
The only thing more he will say to all your questions is: "She is beauty turned dark. She has no master. She walks where she wills, even here. She laid with the Stag Lord. She takes who she wants, but it never ends well for them."
"Never."
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Magna do not find Perlivash joke funny, but refrains from follow the theme with the fey dragon.
"She is powerful then? How is she named? How does she look?"
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"I'm honored that you want to learn from me," Naralesh replies to Talia, sincerely touched that another spellcaster would be interested in his magic. "It would be my pleasure to teach it. I would be eager to learn of your dazzling blade illusion in turn. I've focused little on illusion magic in my studies of late and I plan to fix that deficiency."
"A trade then? We'll start as soon as we get back to Oleg's!" Talia is, of course, extremely flattered that such an accomplished wizard is interested in her parlour trick, and it shows plain as day across the woman's delighted face.
15 Desnus 4707
Talia grits her teeth as the word of the Stag Lord's defeat has already reached Oleg's. How!? Well, it seems it will be more difficult than I'd hoped to wipe the man from the histories...
As Kesten mentions the prankster, Talia pinches the bridge of her nose. "Edric, Vosil, Kaalib. Perhaps you should go with Magna. It sounds like some old friends are here, and you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Pervilesh and Tyg. Though I wouldn't call it a pleasure..."
Turning to Kesten, Talia gives the guards-captain a quick nod. "Prepare the prisoners. They've proven to be unrepentant. Your man Sneed is over there."
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Sadly, Talia can't escape the little dragon, despite her intention to avoid Nat's field like an Iobarian plaguehouse. The little creature's laughter reaches Talia's ears well before she sees it, the sound of Pervilesh's mirth bringing with it an uncontrollable shudder that crawls up the playwright's back.
More pinching of her nose, and there it is, the beginnings of a headache, perching right behind her temples. Closing her eyes, Talia sighs, her face turning crimson.
"I'll have you know it was a little more nuanced than that, Pervilesh! Besides, I've been told... Oh, never mind. Yes, I am a horrible kisser. My breath smells naturally of rutabagas, and my tongue seems to have the wiggle of an eel's arse. Or so I have been told, tiny dragon."
She stares at Pervilesh as Vosil's question grips it with fear. Whoever "she" is, she must be powerful indeed, to get that little monster to clam up.
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""Today is the first day of the future. Today is the day of reckoning, when the evils that have plagued this lands are vanquished. And you, more than anybody else, have proven yourself better. You have gained my trust, and my friendship. I saw you saving me, so I will be in your debt, whenever you need me."
Kaalib smiled in a toothy, lizard like fashion. She had noticed, and his debt was recognizably paid. This made things a bit easier. "Regardless of our differences, we both have a healthy respect of law. It is the bright light of civilization, and by it I hope to bring my people out of their barbarism. I may have to duel my own chief to bring this end, and if that happens, I would ask you to be my second. We can keep the trickery to a minimum under your watchful eye, to be sure. The mere reputation of the one who killed the Stag Lord should make it a surety"
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Over the next few days, as the trip progressed back to Oleg's, Kaalib's demeanor became even more serious. It was possible that with the power void, his chief would do something stupid in the area. After discussing it with Talia, the kobold made plans to visit his home instead of finishing the exploration. He would never really be far away, especially if they did settle here, and he made plans to visit at least once a month for a few days to keep diplomatic ties open.
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Kaalib smiled in a toothy, lizard like fashion. She had noticed, and his debt was recognizably paid. This made things a bit easier. "Regardless of our differences, we both have a healthy respect of law. It is the bright light of civilization, and by it I hope to bring my people out of their barbarism. I may have to duel my own chief to bring this end, and if that happens, I would ask you to be my second. We can keep the trickery to a minimum under your watchful eye, to be sure. The mere reputation of the one who killed the Stag Lord should make it a surety"
Magna puts a hand over the Kobold shoulder.
"It would be my honor to be your second, if you need me."
Crouching by Dregan, gently, Talia reaches out and grabs the woodsman's hands. "We will give your brother a proper ceremony, back at Oleg's... and a burial if that is possible. If you'd like to speak of him, I'd like to know more of Ulric. We will make sure that he's part of the histories of this land."Passing Naralesh, Talia simply gives him a pat on the shoulder and a small smile. There's nothing to be said, except, "I hope you'll accompany us back to Olegs to see Dregan's brother is put to rest, and await our hard earned award?"
"Nah it's not that, he was a nasty piece of work, but it was my job to stop him. You know? That was one of the reasons I came here, to clean up. He was never kind, but I guess he listen to Da's stories of us once being kings of these lands and left to make it so again. And then I heard and about the Staglord and thought it might be him, given that Da said our symbol had been a stag's head. A living stag's head not just the skull mind. I guess Ma and Da will want his body back for a burial if there is any left of it, maybe he even deserves it after what they did to him." Dregan kicks the lifeless body of the Staglord in the stomach.
Talia nodded and stood. There was little to be done about Ulric but make sure that he got home to his family. "You can honor your brother by making sure that those that lead to his death -" the playwright looked pointedly to the Stag Lord's corpse, "- cannot flourish again here."
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Talia saw the kobold off, walking with him towards the gates of the Trading Post. What a strange creature. Exceptional for his kind to be sure, but also confident in his abilities. Probably too confident.
"Be careful Kaalib. The chief will see you - rightly - as a threat. Take some of your gold and buy the loyalty of the best Sootscale warriors that you can."
Frowning as another thought occurs to her, the playwright continues. "And be careful as you travel as well. Take those bought Sootscales with you. This wilderness is vast and still untamed. There's all manner of dangers we could have missed."
Pausing at the gates, Talia holds out her hand and wraps it around the kobold's extended claw. "Abadar's grace be with you, friend."
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That night, Talia lights the lantern in her rented "office", and spreads her parchment and ink quills out on her makeshift desk. Dipping a quill in ink, she starts with the charter, drawing a line through Gavriil's name.
Never did learn his last name, Talia thinks, a small smile crossing her lips, and then, dipping the quill again, the playwright adds three names to the charter, with her initials by each one.
Kaalib Coaltongue (TK)
Vosil Comarenza (TK)
Edric Godly (TK)
Next, taking a blank sheet of parchment, she copies the charter in full, including the crossed out names and the added ones, and below that adds in her tidy script:
This is a faithful reproduction of the charter given to Talia Khavortorov, reproduced on this day of 15 Desnus 1407, and to be taken into account as bearing every truth, just as would the original.
Signing her name below the addendum, Talia finishes by adding two lines for the signatures of her impartial witnesses, Oleg and Svetlana.
Sighing, she puts both charters aside to await the witnesses' signatures in the morning, and pulling another sheet of parchment, gets right back to writing. It was going to be a long night.
Lords:
I bring news and good tidings for you, but first you will see that I have sent with this missive an abridged charter, for we have suffered one loss, due to desertion, to our earlier number. I have added three names of individuals that have gone through a great many trials with us, and without whose help I would be unable to bring you the news that I do. In addition to the earlier additions of Magnitofera Skeller and Dregan Hirchertz, we now need to add the names Kaalib Coaltounge, Vosil Comarenza, and Edric Godly. As I explain recent tidings, I'm sure you will see why these additions are needed, for we have obtained a great service in the name of the Swordlords of Brevoy, namely the eradication of the Greenbelt's bandit menace...
Sitting back in her chair, Talia stares at the ceiling for a moment. Some days the writing came easier than others, and some nights were like tonight. Still, flexing her wrist, the playwright supposed that once she got into the meat of the story, things would flow easier. And they did.
She told most of the story, making sure to stress her companions' talents and contributions; Kaalib's fiery destruction of the bandit lieutenants, Dregan's threading the battlefield with arrows like a tailor threads a needle, Naralesh's mastery of creatures from beyond, Vosil's adept removal of the Stag Lord's weapon from his possession, and Edric's stalwart presence on the battlefield, in effect cutting off the most dangerous enemies from getting to the softer targets of the group's casters and archers.
Sighing, Talia realizes she can't do justice to Magna's bravery without talking about the fearsome nature of the Stag Lord. Despite her promise to obviate the man, some vows must be broken. So the playwright describes the Stag Lord in full, his powerful build, his drunken rage, his near killing of Vosil, the pure evil that emanated from the man, who seemed, on the battlefield at least, more than human. Thus described, the Stag Lord of Talia's testimony was brought low in all his terrible glory by Torag's Hammer, Talia describing in vivid detail the shieldmaiden's charge, and the resultant separation of the Bandit King's head from his shoulders.
Pinching her nose, Talia looked over her writing. There were some things she omitted, of course - Dregan's bandit brother, Kaalib's, well, kobold-ness, Edric's seeming bought with possession. Talia also realized, perhaps not unintentionally, that she once again had neglected to mention the gold mine in her report. The Swordlords need not know of such things yet.
Dipping her quill again, Talia turned the parchment over and continued writing...
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There is more news to tell, unfortunately, not all good. We've learned of the existence of a "she," a woman of apparently great power who lay with the Stag Lord. She was not present at the keep when we took it, but we have a witness that saw her slay a unicorn with nary any effort, and the unicorn, when we found its body, was absent the decay that comes from a natural death. "She" has powerful magic at her disposal indeed.
I fear that without constant vigilance, "She" would work to reform the bandit menace to Brevoy's south. I know that things are complex in our homeland, my Lords, and so I write to ask you one favor: let us take care of some complications for you. We have a fort, fresh water, a good vantage point to see the surrounding land. I ask you, send us soldiers and supplies, and let us secure your southern border, so that you can turn your attentions to necessities closer to home. For without vigilance, I fear the natural order of things in the Greenbelt is instability. Instability we fine sons and daughters of Brevoy can not afford at our doorstep in such unsettled times.
Yours in service and faith,
Talia Khavortorov
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Magna hammers in the forge. Her sweat falls on her eyes, and she don't know if it's only sweat or there are tears intermixed with them.
She finally destroyed the bandits. During many days and nights she craved for that task. She dreamed for the opportunity of finding that den of evil and destroy it.
She triumphed in a bigger way she had dared to imagined, Torag be praised. She had faced them, look at them in the face, accepted their strikes and bruises and persevered, letting them forge her into something new, something pure, something better, killing the leaders, including the Stag Lord.
But her work is not over. The Greenbelt has to be shaped... forged... turned into something worthy, something valuable. Something perfect. As with the horseshoe she is forging, it needs to be rid of imperfections, contamination particles, leaving only pure and strong iron. If not, if the steel is not pure, it is weak, worthless, doomed to be broken, to fail.
She needs to get rid of any contamination. Get rid of any imperfection. Guarantee that this new lands are pure and strong. Perfect.
She needs to get rid of Vosil.
She needs to get rid of Talia.
Torag demands it.
Water keeps falling from her eyes. And not all of it is sweat.
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Vosil - as ever - diligently takes notes. "...she...beauty turned dark... no master... takes who she wants, but it never ends well for them..." He closes the Journal with a snap. "As well to be informed. Thank you, Perlivash," he nods gravely at the scared little dragon. "Your warning is greatly appreciated. Nobody will ask you any more questions about her."
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Sleep does not come easily to Vosil that night. Eventually, he gives up on the effort entirely; taking care not to wake his companions, he withdraws from the sleeping quarters and finds a quiet corner in one of the guard towers. By the light of his Everburning Torch, he takes up his lucky shirt and begins sewing closed the tears in the fabric, sealing up the scars of battle. He nods at the soldiers as they pass by on patrol, guarding this place even in the still watches of the night. Kesten Garess knows his job well.
Garess - that's one of the more senior noble families of Brevoy; what is such a man doing out here in such a place? Curiosity is Vosil's key trait; but he knows when to keep it in check. Presumably the man is doing what they all are doing out here; making a new life. Kesten would doubtless not welcome any questions.
Ah, yes; a new life. And so, at the last, he comes to the point. He can no longer pretend to be in ignorance of what this little band is up to; it is one thing to be part of an adventuring group scouring the wilderness - it is quite another to have a Charter. Although the red-headed wench hasn't mentioned it to him, he's heard enough snatches of conversation to know that the group has been commissioned by the Swordlords; what they do is on official business. Brevoy - well, Rostland - is seeking to pacify its Southern border. Doubtless so that when civil war comes, it has only its Northern border to worry about.
Failure to report such a development to the Pathfinder Society is practically a dereliction of duty. Taking part in such a group without notice, without permission is... Vosil blinks. It is almost literally unthinkable. If it weren't for Tashya's death, and his suspicions - scratch that, his certainty, lack of hard proof be damned - that the Society had colluded in her murder, he wouldn't even have the capacity to think of it.
He sighs, heavily. Politics. Always, always, politics. The ebb and flow of allegiances roils within his mind, invisible on the surface. He owes Dylan, his commanding officer, not only his duty but his life; but - even thinking this is difficult - he owes the Society nothing. His 10 years of service were given in good faith, but he was not supposed to escape that ambush that claimed his ward; of that he is sure. He was - and is - expendable.
No man can serve two masters. If he is to take a real place beside his new companions, he cannot also serve the Society.
My dear Dylan,
I trust my earlier letter found you well. I write further to my request for a leave of absence; I have now changed my mind. Effective immediately, I am resigning. My reasons are my own, not to be committed to paper. If ever we meet in person, I will gladly talk with my friend; in a way that I cannot with my commanding officer.
Yours aye,
VC
Compose twice; write once. He will write and send the letter in the morning.
16-25 Desnus 4707
The days go by peacefully at Oleg's, if not without some intense discussion and debate. Trappers come and go, and Kesten's men maintain a vigilant watch, but there is nothing untoward to report. all is quiet. Even Perlivash has left, things being too slow for him.
It is late in the day on the 25th of Desnus when the horns sound - two quick notes, the signal for an unknown entity approaching the gate. Very soon after, Kesten enters the common room.
"There is something you should see. A caravan train, moving west along the road. They are coming here."
Magna stands, without her armor, and moves towards Kesten.
"Let's go receive them."
Naralesh girds himself in his mage armor before even leaving his room. His spells have come more easily to him lately - his magical talents continue to increase, and his protective armor lasts for nearly a third of the day now. He puts down his quill, not minding an opportunity to take a break from his research and writing.
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Edric is already in place on top of the gatehouse. He's been visibly more and more restless over the past few days and has taken to spending much of the day asleep, preferring to spend his nights under the stars rather than face the frustration of days filled with doing very little. The discussions of a future kingdom have concerned him and he spends long periods in prayer and meditation, although he has been uncharacteristically unforthcoming about what he has learned.
"They seem well armed from what I can see. Were we expecting guests?"
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16 Desnus, the wee hours
Talia leaves her "office" stretching her back, that peculiar kink in below her left shoulder that always comes from a long writing jag starting to act up. Twisting her torso to loosen it, she turns and spies Vosil sewing by a guard tower. Intrigued, she approaches, hesitant to interrupt the man. At the same time, there's been something she's been very curious about, and best inquired about in private company.
Standing silently for a moment, she decides to just come out with it. Vosil was a bit too clever - best to put him on the defensive before he had time to raise his guard.
"The Surtovas - you don't like them. Why?"
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Desnus 25
Putting aside her dinner, Talia runs to her office and grabs her longsword. There may not be time to don armor - hopefully it won't be needed.
Climbing the steps to the tower, she looks out across the plains to the west, and sure enough, there it is, wagons stretching out into the distance.
Frowning slightly, more perplexed than worried, Talia shrugs. "Guests? No, none expected, Edric. Well then, I suppose we should meet our unannounced friends."
Descending the steps, Talia asks the gates be opened, and then she strolls out into the late day, the sky just starting to turn to night.
This could be very good. Or very bad.