The old dwarf first considers not even turning when he hears the gnomes chattering to one another about something, but finally gives in to his curiosity to observe Cearb narrowly missing amputation of Bastagar's left ear.
Suddenly, the dwarf grew nervous about all the noises he was making. His heavy breathing, his copious armaments rattling against his heavy armor, the creak of the leather in his boots.
Whispering his assent, he made the decision to join the the role of distractor with Hilde.
"Actually, tha's a good plan. But we don't know th' men ahead are necessarily all tha' bad, although I dun know why any good man would be out here... Very well, lass, le's go see what we can find ahead. "
Olaf strains his ears, but hears nothing.
"I'll take your word for it. I think surprise is an excellent idea. The quicker they fall, the faster we can move on, hopefully without injury."
The plan is put into place and four of your six stalk through snow and trees to circle around to the flank of the bandits as Hilde and Kelgar wait for a minute before continuing to walk towards the sound of voices.
Bandit Perception:
"...been sick for days, don't know why...
...don't know why we're keeping her breathing..."
The men are armed with bow and short sword and as Kelgar and Hilde begin their less than quiet near approach they stop talking and become alert. Wordlessly and with hand signals they begin to move to positions where they might ambush those that approach with the pointed greeting of their arrows... but they do not appear to have noticed you approaching on their flank.
Hilde:
Caerb:
Bastagar:
Kelgar:
Halfhand:
Olaf:
After a short delay, Hilde and Kelgar begin to approach along the path, not making it more than another twenty feet before the muttered words of conversation ahead abruptly cease.
Action Tracker (Surprise Round): Olaf, Halfhand, Caerb, Bastagar
The Halfhand swings out from behind the tree, firing a bolt at an unsuspecting bandit. As soon as the bolt leaves the crossbow he shifts, gliding back through the air like a flurry of black leaves.
Bastagar spins his borrowed knife in his crooked fingers, marveling in the way it catches the light as they wait in ambush. He grins wickedly at his companions as they find their unsuspecting marks. He stares fixedly at the dancing vein in the talkative bandit's neck, barely able to contain his glee, and when the others make their move he lets the blade soar, cackling with manic glee.
---
Olaf roars, and charges out from betwixt the bushes, his axe coming around in an over-hand chop at one of the bandits!
Bursting out of the brush Olaf sends one bandit to the ground with a brutal swipe of his axe. Halfhand and Bastagar then combine to lay down the second with similar efficiency - their target going down with a projectile lodged in each lung and bloody froth at it's mouth.
Olaf: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Halfhand: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Cearb: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
Bastagar: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10 ++
Hilde: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10 +
Bandits: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10
Kelgar: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
Action Tracker (Surprise Round): Olaf, Halfhand, Caerb, Bastagar
Action Tracker (Round 1): Olaf, Halfhand, Caerb, Bastagar, Hilde, Bandits, Kelgar
The Halfhand steps out from behind the tree once more and fires at the remaining bandit.
Bastagar will charge , brandishing his shillelagh with wicked glee.
First, I will wait for Cearb.
Second, Hilde will charge if the bandit lasts until her turn, which is doubtful. This also assumes no terrain penalty to movement, as she just barely makes her charge.
If the bandit is still up, Hilde will have finally accomplished something in combat. I don't think he'll be up however. 8)
Halfhand belies his scholarly past and sends another quarrel accurately into a bandit's chest. It remains standing long enough to dodge Bastagar's ill aimed strike before being cut down by Hilde. The three men lie fallow in the snow, life blood slowly ebbing from their forms. Two of the bandit's breath patterns are even and regular, while the third with both lungs punctured chokes on aspirated blood as he struggles to draw breath.
"Perfectly executed... In more ways than one."
Satisfied with the grim work done in the clearing, Olaf sets about searching the bodies of the bandits.
Two of the fallen bandits groan as Olaf roughly searches them, while the third grows quiescent. All are similarly armed and armored with padded armor, buckler, short sword, and shortbow with 20 arrows. Between the three coin purses you find tally 28 gp, and 5 sp.
Olaf regards one of the bows appraisingly, and runs his fingers through the fletching of the arrows.
"This could be useful... A shame it is not the right sort of arrows, though... Still, I dare say the Fey who employed them would not have tolerated them having the 'right' sort of iron..."
The Halfhand walks over to one of the bandits, loading another bolt into his crossbow. He knows not whether they would survive the battle wounds, but it matters not. He looks down at the unconscious man, placing one foot on his chest as he takes aim.
"A fate deserving of one who throws his lot in with Fae..." he mutters grimly, casting a wary eye back at the others, acutely aware of the hypocrisy inherent in his words. He pulls the trigger.
"A man does not die a slow death. Winter will not claim another victim." The Halfhand spits the word 'winter' like a curse through gritted teeth. He stands over the corpse for a moment, his matted hair hanging in strands across his face, expression blank and cold as the icy snow. Truly he is a husk of a man, empty of feeling, empty of life.
Halfhand's bolt makes short work of the first bandit, scything through it's neck.
Cearb had sneaked so close he could hear them breathing. He scouts about making sure there are just the three when the sound of bowstrings and axes announce the end of the men at the hands of his companions.
Caerb confirms that there aren't any more lurking near, and the trail is just the same that you've been following towards the Lady and her captors.
Kelgar finally makes it into the bandit camp, huffing and puffing like a gnomish contraption in the cold northern air.
"Well... done... all... of... ye."
As he regains his senses, he adds his eyes to the search of the campsite.
"We must be gettin' close if they have a forward camp. Ah'm assumin' they're all workin' together. Can't imagine a reason anyone else'd be out here campin'."
Bastagar scurries towards his felled Bandit, snatching up his knife before rifling up the coin purse, reluctantly relinquishing it to Olaf. As the Halfhand makes to kill his mark, Bastagar steps aside, but as the dead man lies staring at the sky the gnome turns him over to bleed out into the snow, careful not to look into the mans eyes. Faintly aware of the blood on his hands, he traces a perfect, grisly circle around a nearby ash tree, as a trail marker or for some purpose more sinister, muttering in sylvan for the entire affair. "Agar ten'Grungir,/ lakwen-aran./ Ro mano essa/ lye uum'lynduva./ Arauka lye tarna,/ lenk lye goth/ anid-lye/ oira losa."
Trickster King,
He whose name we
Should not Sing...
Ease our passage,
Slow our Foes,
Spare us from
Eternal Snows.[b]
He meets the stares of the others with a perplexed look of their own before falling in line, as if wondering why they do not join in. [b]"More trouble ahead, [i]yes[i]? Bastagar had hoped they had a fire." he says, poking around the campsite miserably. "We should press on. This glade is for dead men, now."
Olaf nods to Halfhand, as he completes his grim work.
"There can be no mercy for those who align themselves with the cursed witches of Irrisen, and their Fey proxies. Let us continue, and clear-out their main nest."
The remaining two bandits are passed from this life into the boneyard with grim mouthed efficiency by the one that has felt winter's chill bite. The bandits are left unburned and unburied, staring emptily at the dirt after Bastagar has flipped them face down.
__________________________
It does not take overlong before your reach an incline that sends the trail winding and rising to the West before doubling back on itself. After climbing at least a hundred feet in height into the hills, the snowy trail finally levels off. In a clearing among the trees, a large wooden lodge overlooks a ravine spanned by a long rope bridge. Smoke rises from the lodge’s two snow-covered chimneys, and large woodpile is stacked against the outer wall. A small outbuilding stands east of the lodge, and a stone well nearly blanketed by snow is barely recognizable to the north. Several tracks lead southwest toward a detached stable.
The thick and deep trail you have been following muddies nearer to the back of the lodge and numerous horse and human tracks cross back and forth through the snow near the back porch of the lodge.
Trudging along in the snow, Kelgar pauses and raises his hand when he spots the rising smoke.
Smacking his lips, his mind races at the thoughts of what warmth they might be discover in the small cabin, hazily remembering the welcoming embrace of his own home's family room as he stepped in from a cold day.
"Cabin... snow. Warm." he mutters, as if dazed by the spell of some wintery fey enchanter.
Hilde addresses her question to Olaf, "Strange this is and stranger still, that Winter would let them live, how and where they will. Northman, what have ye to say? Be they mortal men or have their hearts been frozen cold. And how are we to know their state if we only search dead men for gold?
"They deserve at least a perfunctory burial, regardless of their masters."
Olaf then insists on burying them in the snow.
Once the party arrives at the clearing, and Hilde poses her question, Olaf shrugs.
"They could be charmed, coerced, or simply mercenaries. The winter witches certainly use mortal minions. Normally, I would say that we should be cautious, but the trail of winter that we have been following leads straight here, so I do not doubt that they are factors of the Witches..."
I meditated on posting some retcon as well, but figured to let it slide in the spirit of keeping things moving.
Because they were referred to by the GM as "bandits", I'm going to assume we had copious evidence that they were indeed bandits and guilty of not just banditry but perhaps were complicit with kidnapping as well.
Since we're in Irrisen, I suppose it's technically Irrisen law - which I doubt are laws we'd really respect much and be "good". Although, even in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, it's likely the punishment for banditry might only be execution "if someone strong enough has the will to enact that punishment".
I figure, Kelgar being an inquisitor, would've judged them guilty of the crime of banditry and nodded somberly at their swift end. We didn't torture these men, we simply gave them the proper punishment for their actions.
Had we had more healing available, or we had a convenient way to bring them into a town, things would've been different.
Without an easy way to dig a real grave, and anyone willing to do that work for multiple men - the easiest way to have handled matters properly would be to burn them after they were given a quick death (by arrow or axe).
Since we're discussing retcon, I'll presume that Hilde, Olaf and Kelgar dragged them all to the middle of the camp and built a pyre before continuing on.
"Aye, we know not if friend or foe is stationed up in that... warm, cozy... did 'ah say warm yet...? Err, cabin."
Kelgar sniffs the air for signs of cooking.
"Men with frozen hearts wouldna have a need to cook. I'd say someone quiet should go take a look, except..."
Kelgar gives both Cearb and Bastagar a long, considering glance.
"... the wee..."
The dwarf continues to stare deep into the eyes of the two gnomes.
"Ah think we should just take our chances. Go up all together and knock on th' door. If th' kidnappers are up there, sure 'nough we'll be fightin'. Best we take 'em all at once, together."
Clearing his throat Kelgar keeps his other idea to himself, yet the thought continues to echo in his mind as if he were some sort of haunted Shoanti spirit-talker.
We could wait a spell and see who walks out... but... warm fire...
Bastagar blinks up at Hilde with a look of puzzlement on his face. "What else do dead men have to offer us, lady-of-the-wood?" he asks, pocketing his coin and making down the trail.
____
Bastagar clutches to Kelgar's cloak, nodding in agreement and trying to see over the dwarf's shoulder. "Two hearths, yes. Perhaps the maimed man can sit at his own?" he says, pondering. "But so tall they are! How will they sneak inside?"
Ormr scurries up onto the Halfhand's fox pelt as the lodge comes into sight, sniffing the air in tandem with Kelgar.
"They have been here." the wizard says simply, tilting his head towards the trail. "Which either means they have passed by, or are still here. If they passed by, then those who dwell are ally to bandit and raider. If they are still here..." The Halfhand loads a bolt into his crossbow. "Either way, to approach so openly is to court danger."
He crinkles his nose, muttering to himself. "They know of our approach. The smoke, the pixie, the eyes of the Grungir... Deception waits in an open hand..."
He grabs Kelgar's shoulder and turns the dwarf towards him, his eye twitching, sparks of magic dancing within them. "Don't be seduced by the thought of dancing flame. We know not what we are up against, nor the depth of their treachery or the skill of their illusion. To let your guard drop for any instant is to bare your chest to the knife of their deceit."
His grip loosens as he turns towards the lodge once more, whispering words in a language foreign to mortal ears as he walks away.
Bastagar will screw up his face, loathe to admit that the Halfhand has a point, he folds his arms and remains silent, hunching his shoulders against the cold. He pulls a fine brass smoking pipe (clearly not of northern craftsmanship) from his filthy rucksack, staining his gnarled fingers as he packs it with musty tobacco. He pesters the others for a light before saying his piece.
"Trail leads here." he murmurs into the stem of his pipe. "But few fairie live under roofs of men. P'raps they keep lady-of-the-jewel-box here?" he says, with a covetous grin and a puff of smoke. "P'raps they do, yes."
"If we're not to sneak inside, p'raps Bastagar tricks them. Makes them come outside."
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Hilde speaks to Cearb and Bastagar, asking them to stand beside her and support her. If they agree, she will still step forward two steps, placing herself firmly between the gnomes and the other three members of the party.
Hilde speaks, at first hesitantly but growing determined as she continues. She never whines or gets angry although her back is ramrod straight and she refuses to sit while speaking. She speaks directly to Olaf but makes certain that Kelgar and The Halfhand are both within her field of vision, and keeps them there.
"Three souls of faerie into a village of mortals walk'd, a ring-giver's blood-wyr asked, but two, the crow's people balk'd. Three faeries did rise heeding not norn-given Doom, with axes of rock and wind, with Tyr-founded magic's bloom."
Translation
"Did Grungir's children bow heads of downy white, the feast of crow's dew joined, none fallen, yet three souls lost to sight. Fellowship forged by hearth-light damped in dark snow, forgotten. Good will and faith neglected, barbs one throws, both poison and rotten.
Translation
"As Honor's wisps under the water, shield-men true refuse to rise. Blind to dark and light they seem, silence no shield to twisted lies. Tradition unbound as kin we face, sacrifice made as thee do not. While sung as one upon the wind, yet still three souls have fought.
Translation
"No more, say I, with blades bound tight, to midden's stench no longer sweet, what mortal Honor must set right. To thee in fellowship have we deferred, your people's ways not once excepted. To sing our saga's coda, three souls must be respected.
Translation
Hilde seems hopeful at the end of her speech, and waits to see what the others have to say in response. Her words grew more determined as she spoke, but never once did anger enter her voice or tears her eyes.
"Woman." the Halfhand states, irritation clear in his voice. He stares directly at her with darkened eyes. "You seem to be under a misconception about the nature of our relationship. This..." he gestures around at the group. "This is just a marriage of convenience. We are not friends. We are not companions. Suffer no illusions of camaraderie. You may be a noble of your world, but here that means nothing. The North does not know titles. It does not know purity of blood nor the wealth of your line. And it does not suffer the weak. Here only the strong survive. If you want respect, you must earn it."
He points his finger at Olaf and Kelgar. "These men have proved themselves in battle. They have brought their axes to bear against our foes. Where were you when I wrestled with jaws of the wurm? Where were you when we fought against the winter fae? Pleading for peace? Sleeping in the snow? The elementals were felled by the strength and axes of men and dwarf, not by fairy blades. The kind dwarf has kept you fed and alive with his magic. The skald has torn through our foes like paper. But what have you done? Stabbed a walking corpse? Cut down an injured man?" he snorts derisively.
The Halfhand balls his hands, trembling wth rage, his voice a low growl. "Do not be so conceited, little princess. You come along with your minions under the pretense of granting aid, but you've contributed nothing. Have you no shame? How dare you! You, who is worth less than a crippled old man! How dare you make demands! Know your place, child!"
The Halfhand breathes heavily, his face red, each breath turning to mist in the winter air. Ormr glances about, a concerned looks on his face.
"I've had enough of this insolence." The wizard says, shaking his head. "Even a child knows that respect is earned, not given. Ormr, come, let us escape this foolishness."
The Halfhand turns and continues walking up the trail without further words.
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Kelgar shakes his head, ridding himself of the haunting enchantment that the wily chimney inflicted upon his senses, and brings his attention to some chattering between the Halfhand and Hilde.
It takes a few moments for the old dwarf to decipher the paladin's rhymes, but her facial expressions quickly reveal the true intention of her words. Blinking, he imagines the face of his daughter, flush and tear-filled, looking his direction, claiming some injustice at the hands of one of her brothers.
"Ah'm reminded o' several tales where me folk teamed up with th' elves against some greater evil. Most o' those tales bespoke that neither dwarf nor elf were real happy at th' loose alliance, and both bickered endlessly. Th' elves are standin' back and shootin' while th' dwarves be the ones takin' all th' blows in melee."
Kelgar does his best to assume a fatherly pose and adopt a tone in which he tries his best not to show his favoritism to the dwarves' (naturally correct) assessment of their relationship with the elves.
"But battles were won because they fought together, no matter how many insults were exchanged, or which were right or wrong."
"Now ah want ye all to pay close attention. Th' bandits we're after and this lady we're savin'... I dinnae think she's a cousin o' Olaf or th' Halfhand here. So while they all share th' blood o' men, ah'm sure th' wee ones are about as close to 'er as our Chelish friend."
The dwarf's tone grows more serious as he continues.
"Now, we're doin' what we're doin' because it's the right thing to be doin'. This'nt a job for jes' two or three."
Next, he directly addresses the Halfhand.
"Now ye're right. Respect is earned, not jes handed out like a chocolate to a child."
"But ye're a bright lad, and ye know th' princess is ... a sensitive sort. Maybe if ye stick outta 'er 'ead for a spell, she'll be able to concentrate and hit somethin' with tha' damned sword o' hers."
Finally, he turns to Hilde.
"And yer right that a group should be more cohesive, lest we be leavin' half of ye out here on th' next pyre. Now, I know ye've been saving up somethin' special. Once th' others get sight o' it, yer words'll carry the weight they need to cover th' distance ye seek to throw 'em."
Kelgar picks up his axe again, shouldering it.
"Now, we've got some evil sorts ahead - enemies o' us both. Grab yer damned weapons, sheathe yer complaints, and let's bring 'em justice in whatever style ye prefer to administer it."
Bastagar will shuffle to wherever Hilde instructs, staring at her with the same irreverent curiosity that he's worn since their auspicious meeting. But his wide-eyed silence does not last, and as the Halfhand interjects he's unable to contain his cackling.
"Crippled old men! He talks of crippled old men!" he says, between shrieks of laughter. "Bitter old fool with half his fingers, talking of the strength of men as he hides behind the trees! Maimed man certainly thinks highly of himself. Fells a pixie and thinks it's a troll! " he says, cupping his hands to his mouth and continuing his tirade until the Halfhand is well out of earshot before collapsing in laughter into the snow.
"Clear the way, clear the way!
A prince in damp furs doth walk among you!
Bow before the king of fools! Bow! Bow! Hahahaha!"
Bastagar sits up in the snow, nodding appraisingly as the dwarf speaks his piece, grudgingly silencing his laughter as he listens to the wise-old-dwarf. "He speaks much sense, lady-bright. These mortal-ken do not sing our songs." he says in a conciliatory tone, pulling her aside. "You must get used to their mistrust when you live among them, and turn it against them." he says, waving a hand dismissively in the Halfhand's direction and lowering his voice to a whisper.
"This one can put him out of it's misery, if the lady wishes. He that lashes out like a wounded animal." he says, without a hint of malice in his voice, only the earnest desire to please. "... but Bastagar is certain we can put him to use, yes. Let him fear us and put no stock into what he thinks. Those so eager to draw the ire of the fairie will not live long in Grungir wood."
The Halfhand snarls at Bastagar as the gnome mocks him. "The same pixie who would have bled you dry as you drooled in the snow!"
_______
Kelgar's words seem to diffuse his anger somewhat. He loosens his fists, taking in a deep breath. He exhales slowly, breaking into a low laugh at the absurdity of it.
"You are right." he finally says, turning to Kelgar, nodding at the dwarf's sage words. "This conflict is pointless. Trivial, even."
"There is wisdom in this. These creatures are capricious... I know not how to deal with them. Perhaps I should just observe for now."
"I will trust your counsel, Kelgar." The Halfhand tilts his head. This is perhaps the first time he's called the dwarf by name.
"I want to hear no more of this talk. Let us do what we have set out to do."
Olaf listens silently to Hilde, letting her say her piece before speaking.
"Never once have I slurred you, nor have I stated that I thought you were the same as the Fey serving the Winter Witches. I thought you were only kin to them in the same way that we are kin to the humans," he nods backwards down the path towards the buried bandits, "that serve them. I do not judge you for the faults of others - their sins are the result of their own choices, and they will be treated accordingly. I have no qualms about killing those who serve the Winter Witches, be they mortal or Fey. If I truly thought that you were the same as them, I would never have ventured out here with you."
He then nods towards Bastagar and Cearb.
"That said, whilst I have heard stories of helpful Fey, your companions generally put me in mind more of the stories I have heard of... crueler, more unusual... beings. Still, I acknowledge that the enemy of my enemy is, if not my friend, then at least my ally. I do, however, agree that respect is something that is earned, ideally through the heat of battle, rather than simply handed out."
Cearb comes back into the clearing and nods approvingly at the clean knife work. "Quick and clean, a sure hand gives a clean death, let them move on and make better choices in their next life, make better friends and they won't end up face down in the snow."
He kicks snow upon the corpses to cover them, while singing a little sing-song chant, "Bird and fox eat tonight, Empty bellies won't be light, The martin comes for a snack, the wolf comes with its pack, Eat quickly and be aware, Nothing remains after the bear."
Upon hearing Hilde's words Cearb's chin pokes out a little farther, and he cuffs the ground with his large boot. he looks a mixture of proud and embarrassed.
................
Once the others have said their piece, and in response to Olaf. "Cruel? That is a human word. Is the fox cruel the takes the mouse? The wolf cruel that takes the deer? The River cruel that takes the weak, or the Night that takes the infirm. I am that which takes those who harm the Forest. I do not do 'good', I do what is required."
"Princess, I do not take insult at words of men, only deeds. These have fought at my side and healed my wounds, deeds that bear no insult. If I felt true insult, I carry enough answers in my boot and belt to answer them properly. But...the mistrust, it cannot be wiped from one's eyes, it must drop away of its own accord, but to have it happen sooner than later would be better."
"If we be staying, a fire will be needed to keep off the cold, and i wish we had some spirit for i have a tale to tell tonight, a tale that i like hearing more than telling, but seeing as i was there and you were not i guess it falls to me to tell it." He sets out to gather some firewood and will settle in once a small blaze is going.
He stares into the glint of his knife as he talks, not meeting the gaze of anyone.
"My father fought alongside troll, hag, and other things from the half-hand's nightmares, all servants of the Forest though 'monster' men would call many of them. But he fought with men from outside the Forest, also. Men who proclaimed their honor to home and kin, much like yourself. There was not much trust, but there was respect, as you say, shared enemies for a purpose. Both were the to see a job done. I see that here."
"After the battle of Shieldbridge, I watched the fey and human armies go their separate ways. Lack of a lasting trust dissolved the cooperation once the foe was removed. The great ones from the Fey and the Men fell that day. Those that remained were weaker, and lacked the conviction to honor the new trust."
"This is what the Ice Witches count on. At Shieldbridge, the icy ones were surprised by the joined forces, but almost outlasted the tension within the allied camp, before my father forced the issue, and found a way take the battle to the enemy, but only with the help of the Man chief and his men. With that force now gone, it seems they have returned in smaller numbers, to sneak and skulk within our midst. You see where they take refuge...in the Forest edge....between the Fey and the Men. They cannot abide deeper in the Forest nor in the villages of Man. but here, in the fringe, they grow strong and seek to ensure a lack of trust. My father died at the side...no, within the hand of a Man Chief. And together they killed the Witch General. Now I can admit that I am not the great one my father was, just as I see no Leader of Men here....so we must admit the weakness of our selfs and find trust where there is yet true respect...and must do this before we face an Ice Witch. our minds must not be clouded against each other. I have reason enough to hate the icy ones, you all can trust me on that Here's why....."
Cearb tells the tale of Shieldbridge as was part of his background
Hilde is dismayed at the venom from The Halfhand, but still looks to Olaf for a response. She seems puzzled at first by his response, and then somewhat deflated.
"Thou have heard,
what I've not said,
or words of mine have gone
where're they will to tread.
'As Honor's wisps under the water,
shield-men true refuse to rise.
Blind to dark and light they seem,
silence no shield to twisted lies.'
When one of faerie
used words to harm,
thou were not left alone
as I refused to raise my arm."
Hilde will then busy herself preparing the bodies according to Olaf's instruction. As she is working with him, she will touch one of the dead men on the cheek and bow her head for a moment. Looking up at Olaf, she says,
"The words of Wynter,
with forked tongue speak.
for normal lies they cannot tell,
but only those with magic's reek.
In this wood, men fear to go
lest faeries trick their souls,
are thou certain these men died
free of mind, for their own goals?
My soul weeps tears of sadness,
my mind cries out in silent pain,
that Ulfen blood should ever sell,
kin and honor for their own gain.
Later that afternoon/evening, she listens closely to what Cearb has to say, although she weeps openly at the death of his father and the disregard in which his sacrifice was held. These things never happen in the kind of stories she reads, and it is clear that this part of the mortal world is not at all to her liking.
Once all are settled, she will address herself to the Halfhand directly. It is clear that she is trying to be patient and understanding but she is unable to hide that this requires quite a bit of focus and effort on her part.
"Respect to me from thee
is neither worry nor concern,
excepting that which all men bear
by being, which is not earned.
If thou dost claim to side with Right
and kill a man who walks with fey,
what right have thee after tonight
to see the morrow's break of day?
This arrow true which strikes the mark
be not the fate of thou alone
but rather how you throw companions
with seeds of hate which thou hast sown.
Whilst thou curse and blame all faerie
e'en wounding those who hurt thee not,
seems most unwise, for here are we and
surrounded thou art, by enemies art thou caught.
Better, I think, to judge more wisely,
to limit thine enemies, and make no more,
thine hasty words and blind aggression
are striking those not yet at war."
Hilde sits back and waits to see what will follow, knowing that she has tried to head of conflict to the best of her ability. She is confident that from here there will be no misunderstandings. If this conflict is to continue, it is the mortals that will have made the choice.
"How naive." the Halfhand says. "One does not gain respect by the simple act of being born!" The Halfhand laughs at the sentiment, but stops abruptly before continuing.
"All men are maggots, squirming in the dung of existnce. There is no honor for the urchin, for the peasant, the exile..." The Halfhand grits his teeth, half-remembered memories stirring in the back of his mind. "But no use in trying to convince you of that. You will see the truth of it, soon enough."
___
As Hilde finishes her spiel, the Halfhand closes his eyes, fingers pressed against his brow.
"I thought I had made this perfectly clear, but evidently plain speech is too difficult for you to comprehend." the Halfhand says. "I am not working with you. We are not companions. I am not here for justice or honor, or whatever fool reason that drives you. I am here to claim something that is mine. It is convenience that we travel together, nothing more. I lend my bow and magic to common cause for the sake of speed and ease." He looks her straight in the eye. "And for that same purpose and for getting this damned expedition over and done with, I'm willing to keep my fangs sheathed... Provided that you not waste our time further with such meaningless drivel. Now... Can we move on before the frost claims us?"
Cearb growls behind Half-hand, "You will not address her as such. Cearb holds no weapon and makes no gesture but his dark eyes are very serious.
"Obviously respect is unknown to you, and here we quibble after what I have told of not that distant a past. Look about you, this is no 'save the pretty lady' mission. We have fought fey, men, and creatures of ice in a winter nightmare. Blind crones pick you out of a crowd. Believe that you are a great oak in a clearing, but you wind find you need the sun, the rain, your competitors grazed, and your acorns carried off..if you truly stand alone, you will topple. Bah, at least moving he talks less."
"Ach! Really?"
Kelgar grumbles, shaking his head and tugging his beard as Hilde and the Halfhand continue to chatter on and make attempts to communicate their points.
He considers some of the tricks he's used on his own children, proposing that they'll miss having time for second-dinner or second-desert if they continue to bicker, but then realizes neither Hilde nor the Halfhand may care about pudding. That, and he's currently not carrying any of his wife's delicious confections.
Oh Brundir, how I miss ye face 'bout now.
Kelgar stands, arms crossed in front of him, resting on his axe, his face a forlorn expression.
Raising an eyebrow, he summons his fatherly voice again.
"Hr-hrrm. Well, pap- er, I mean, ahm headin' up t' th' cabin. Prefer if t'was all o' us headin' up... and quiet-like."
The dwarf wheels about and begins trudging ahead in the snow, a growing smile on his face obscured by his long white beard as he fondly remembers his own children's bickering, feeling strangely more at home this deep into Irrisen.
"An oak?" the gnome says, hunching over his staff and peering at the Halfhand for some time. "Too skinny to be an oak." he concludes, definitively, and with nothing more to add, distracts himself about the clearing.
________
Bastagar seems hesitant to stop, almost fearful, but as the others begin to make camp he flits about helping clear the snow, and hanging his crow-totems, or what little is left of them, in the trees around them, humming to himself. "...bird and fox, martin's snack, ha ha~, nothing there after the bear oh no..."
In time, however, his song dies in his throat, and the gnome grows increasingly sullen as the party stops moving. He paces about the camp, looking lost, before sitting and staring mistily at the fire, the flames casting his face in an unnatural light as even his ragged breaths seem to slow to a melancholy halt. As Caerb begins his tale he nods along eagerly, but the tale does not seem to drive off his malaise. He sets about carving a crude statue from a fallen branch, but it barely begins to take shape before he leaves it abandoned in the snow and scurries after the Dwarf "Do we wait for cover of night, master dwarf? Better to catch them while they sleep, oh yes."
The Halfhand scowls, stalking after the dwarf and leaving the others behind. "Trust me, Kelgar, there is nothing I would like more than silence from these creatures. They are very persistent..." He glances back, "You can bet that this will not be the last we hear of their complaints."
"...and yet the maimed one still speaks. Did Bastagar ask it to speak? P'raps we should take its tongue and be done with it?" the gnome growls, not one to let bygones be bygones. He nods sagely as he looks back toward the dwarf, simply saying: "Nightfall, yes."
Hilde stands, giving all present a wan smile. Going to Bastagar, she stops him from hanging the fetishes.
"Here now my friend
we but tarry here a moment now,
we fight tonight, of that I'm sure,
and sleep in cabin after the row.
Gathering her gear, she waits for Cearb and Bastagar and then heads out behind the dwarf. She stops as they approach the hill with the cabin.
"The time is now I think
for faerie feet to run and scout,
lest this battle turn out badly
and it be we that die and rout."