Xogar had finished his breakfast and was mulling over his drink when he noticed a crying woman and her son came bursting through the door.
He immediately rises and makes his way over to her.
"Iomedae has surely blessed me with this opportunity today to help this woman."
He looks down at the woman with a kind smile on his face.
"How may I be of assistance?"
The little green creature crosses its arms, sits on the ground with a thump, and grins a grin that's too toothy.
The woman seizes the half-orc by the hands, and pleads desperately, "Please, you've got to HELP me! My husband is back there, and...and there's a monster under my son's bed!" then she seizes her gently weeping child's arms, and rolls up his sleeves to reveal them coated in fresh bites. "I found the beast all over him this morning, and my husband shouted at me to run and attacked it...please, please help."
The misadventures of Pick caused A'letta to feel for the dwarf. Riding a horse was a challenge for most dwarves, but Pick seemed to have no previous experiences whatsoever with horses. The way he looked at his steed was comical enough, but the look of terror when he realized he was to mount it and ride it frightened her a little. The man could fall off and break his neck if she didn't help him out soon.
Pick felt strong hands adjusting his hold on the horse and A'letta talked with a calm gentle voice,"Diagram? No, I .. listen to nature. The spirits cannot talk like you and I do. I have been taught how you can hear the spirits so that I can listen to what they have to say. Sometimes .. I can get a glimpse into the future. Really, it is nothing more than short glimpse of a split second, but these blessings have helped me a lot during my life." As she spoke, she helped adjust his pose and showed him how to sit on the horse without strangling the poor thing.
"And because of what I saw I came to Sandpoint.", she said with a smile. She hoped that the kind approach gave the man some steady ground to stand on, for he seemed hopelessly lost.
Rhanloi uses Mage Hand on the smug goblin to cause him to choke (but not to kill it...) while he looks at another one and asks, "Kto bol Longshank, že plánoval útok? Daj mi svoje meno!"
Pick felt strong hands adjusting his hold on the horse and A'letta talked with a calm gentle voice,"Diagram? No, I .. listen to nature. The spirits cannot talk like you and I do. I have been taught how you can hear the spirits so that I can listen to what they have to say. Sometimes .. I can get a glimpse into the future. Really, it is nothing more than short glimpse of a split second, but these blessings have helped me a lot during my life." As she spoke, she helped adjust his pose and showed him how to sit on the horse without strangling the poor thing.
"And because of what I saw I came to Sandpoint.", she said with a smile. She hoped that the kind approach gave the man some steady ground to stand on, for he seemed hopelessly lost.
SPEAR-WOMAN PROXIMITY ALERT, BR-ZAT, BR-ZAT! Pick tenses up like a coiled spring (causing his poor horse to let out a strangled, irritated huffing noise) as Spear-Woman enters what a later generation might call his 'personal space'.
He sits frozen for a good ten seconds, with little external tells to his current state of fight-or-flight other than his breathing becoming shallow and his lips pressing into a thin line. Make no needless noise, is the motto of his people, so he makes none, makes no betraying twitch. Instinctively he tries to hide among the rocks, except there are no rocks and shadows here, he's in plain view, on a horse, in the ruthless, revealing sunlight, with a topsider adjusting his grip on the beast.
As the seconds tick by and Spear-woman keeps speaking, it filters through that this is not an attack.
Oh.
Very slowly he un-tenses and tries to follow the indicated adjustments to his posture. The stream of endless words she says (why are the topsiders all so fond of so much noise?) resolve into information he can actually process.
Huffed, shaky exhale. Hold the reins, not the neck.
"...no touch," he rasps. "Voices. You hear... the Voice? You-- see its dreams?"
Aldern is incredibly interested in each and every one of Kyra's answers, short and rude though they be, and even tries to rest his chin on a his to look at her while they ride, and he continues to question her.
The servants Aldern's brought ride silently, occasionally sighing or shaking their head to signify their annoyance.
With the conversational noise, the group moves into Tickwood proper.
The goblin's choking noises punctuate the other goblin's answer, as he fearfully looks between the choking goblin and the half-elven wizard.
Pick is busy trying to a) stay on the damned horse and b) not freak out at A'letta and c) stay on the damned horse some more. He is definitely not looking at tracks.
Pick interrupts Soft Human's stream of constant, irritating questions to Lady with what he may, or may not, recognize is rudeness by surface standards.
"Be QUIET. Look." One stubby finger points in the directions of the markings in the dirt.
Aldern pulls sharply on his reigns at Pick's exclamation, nearly throwing himself from the saddle. He recovers, though, and his head turns rapidly back and forth before it fixes on Pick. "What! What did you see!" his eyes scan the ground where Pick points, but he comments, "I don't see anything, what did you see?"
Pick gives the human a long, blank, uncooperative stare, then pushes his goggles up his forehead. Beneath the lenses his eyes glint blood-red in the shadow of his hood.
"Talk so much," he says slowly, in his barely-above-a-whisper voice, "can't see. Hunt quiet."
It's not the most graceful descent in the world, but at least there's no falling. Pick crouches on the ground and indicates the place where the boar trail rips off into the undergrowth. The light is still (by his standards) awfully bright, but it doesn't make his eyes sting and water the way the sun does when there are no trees in the way.
"Marks."
He wonders at these surface-dwellers. He is being very kind to this male, since it is obvious his brain is damaged. If one of the People had made so much noise while hunting in the caves, Pick would have been well within his bounds to shove the fool's mouth open and slice a warning cut upon his tongue.
Pick idly runs a similar scar on his own tongue against his teeth as he squints into the undergrowth.
"Too many trees."
Kyra was so distracted by Aldern that she hadn't even noticed the trail, and mentally kicked herself for not paying more attention. She leapt off her horse gracefully. "Well done, Pick." she said, somewhat surprised and feeling like perhaps the strange little Dwarf wasn't worthless after all. 'Plus he told Aldern to be quiet, which is just an added bonus.' She thought with a grin.
Rhanloi stops choking the goblin. Cooperation is rewarded, after all. "Popíšte ju. Ako vyzerala, zvuk, vôňu... Povedz mi všetko, čo o nej, potom budete jesť."
Rhanloi asks Khalbar to have the guards bring in some food for the prisoners. It doesn't have to be gourmet stuff - but yesterday's (or the day before) stew and some old bread will do.
The little man puzzled her. His reaction was strange and the words that came out of his mouth didn't answer a damn thing, they only caused more questions to form in her mind. She retracted her touch and smiled when she said,"I do not know if I hear 'the voice', but given the right circumstances I can hear whispers of the many conversations between the spirits and nature. I .. rarely dream that way, but perhaps if the need is big enough, they will visit my dreams."
When Pick pointed out the marks, she moved her horse closer so she could inspect them. With a keen eye she discerns the tracks. "These belong to boars.", the tall woman says. She dismounts, takes the horse by its reins and bends down to inspect them. "Perhaps we should leave the horses behind at some point, because they might alarm the boars."
Khal nods to Rhanloi, who is handling the interrogation fine by himself, and repairs to find some foodstuffs for the goblins. Finding some day-old sweet cakes left over from the festival he returns and sets the stuff on the far end of the table from the goblins, but within sight.
Pick squints at the woman from behind his goggles. She questions whether she hears the Voice. How can one not know? Or perhaps-- perhaps this has to do with one of their weak-gods. Yes. This is the same one who had said that Dez'nah wished his presence. Yes, that makes sense.
It doesn't have to do with the Sleeper at all.
He's not sure whether this makes him feel relieved or disappointed. For one second he'd thought he was among someone who knew-- a powerful draw, to be among shared purpose again, but at the same time that connection carries with it the burden of always judging the other to see if they are doing enough, if they are following the Dreams. If Spear-woman truly heard the Sleeper, then he would be bound by responsibility to chastise her for talking so much.
No such burden is in play. She is only another ignorant topsider. He nods slowly. Her spear-dance on the beach and her little voices... it is all part of her strange Dez'nah-god.
He files all this away in the twisty little tunnels of his head. Perhaps later he will ask about Dez'nah. She does not seem harmful. She attempted assistance and instruction.
And when, a few minutes later, she suggests they leave the horses behind, he feels a surge of gratitude towards another living being that he has probably never felt before. YES OH YES PLEASE LEAVE THE HORSES BEHIND. YOU ARE WISE, EVEN THOUGH YOU FOLLOW A WEAK-GOD.
This manifests as him briefly going up onto his toes, settling back down again with a sharp nod, and whispering, "Yes. Here?"
He looks again at the marks. So these are the borer tracks. His head tilts to one side in confusion. Borers tunnel. The dirt piles on the surface. This much he knows. This does not look like that to him.
Eh. Good enough. He doesn't care. It means he doesn't have to be on the horse.
And also, Lady said well done to him. Praise in the Clan was given out only for the highest of accomplishments, and grudgingly, so this briefly makes his jaw go slack with astonishment, then close with a click.
Well done. He is useful again.
A'letta picks up on the trail of the boars and begins to follow it, Aldern eagerly (and silently, because of the shushes) following along behind.
Aldern's servants elect to wait behind with the horses as the four others walk farther into the forest.
The second goblin looks greedily at the sweetroll Khalbar's brought, and licks its lips. Reaching towards the pastry, it remembers where it is and its gaze re-fixes on Rhanloi.
"Excuse me for a brief moment. I will return."
If Ameiko is around he lets her know where he is going if any of the others wish to know what is going on. If she is not he asks that this info be relayed to her.
Xogar returns to the woman.
"Please show me at once. I will assist you."
Ameiko nods at Xogar. "Of course. I'll let the others know where you've gone."
At Xogar's prompt return, the woman nods, leaves her kid in the Dragon under Ameiko's care, and hurries out of the Dragon with Xogar in tow.
Crossing the town, she comes to a little, cute cottage on the outskirts of town. "There, that's...that's my house. Please, just go inside to see if my hushand's okay."
Readying his shield Xogar pulls his scimitar and cautiously makes his way into the home.
Opening the wooden door, Xogar enters a simple, one-story affair. To the left, a doorway into a small kitchen. Ahead is the master bedroom and the bathroom, and to the right, the doorway to the child's room.
Xogar smells nothing, and to him, the house is silent.
Pick unwinds the leather strap of the sling from around his wrist, and fishes forth a rounded bullet from the belt pouch as they slip into the forest. He used several of his limited supply against the goblins. He will need to obtain more of the smooth, aerodynamic missiles-- it is hard to steal from weaponsmiths, alas. And pebbles from the beach do not have the same smooth heft as the lead slugs.
The strange thought occurs to him that perhaps he needn't take them. He is a 'goblinslayer' now. Walking among them with no-one trying to kill him, burn him, stake him. Maybe he can do as they do, and trade for them, give some of the little precious-metal discs he's pilfered (the discs that seem to be the central purpose of life, for many of the top-siders. They run around chasing the little circles of gold and silver like they were life itself. Strange).
It would be nice to obtain things he needs without running the risk of being killed, he muses.
Silently, he follows the tall spear-woman. She hears the voices of Dez'nah, and sees the signs of the bore. And at least the soft human is being quiet.
Rhanloi takes notes in his book as the goblin speaks, then translates to Khalbar and asks if he has ever heard of anything like this.
After contemplating for a few moments, Rhanloi picks up the food, and asks his last set of questions: "Biele vlasy? A jej roztrhané brucho-up - to bolo rezať ostrým nožom, alebo roztrhlo s pazúrmi? Vedeli jazvy, aby dizajny, alebo boli bitka známky? Kde a kedy ste ju videl naposledy? Čokoľvek iné mi môžete povedať?
Stepping forward Xogar moves into the master bedroom while looking about for anything unusual.
Mouth visibly watering, the goblin answers the last few of Rhanloi's questions.
The house is eerily silent save for the creaks of the floorboards under Xogar's feet. Investigating the master bedroom, he finds a somewhat cramped room with a wardrobe, a bed, a window, and a chest. The bed's covers and sheets are in disarray as if somebody leapt out of bed and never had time to make it.
Otherwise, the bedroom is empty.
Xogar checks the wardrobe to see if anyone is inside. If not, he moves into the child's bedroom.
He continues to be watchful.
The wardrobe contains nothing but your average commoner's selection of clothing.
The child's room, on the other hand, is a completely different story. The bed is scratched and disturbed, light bloodstains on the sheets. A dog lies on the ground at the foot on the bed, clearly dead and bleeding from a wound on the side of its head. The boy's wardrobe is open, and coming out of it is the tail end of an adult man. Only the lower half of the man's torso and his legs protrude from the wardrobe, and he's motionless.
Xogar peers into the wardrobe to get a better look.
There is a hole in the bottom of the wardrobe, once covered by a fur, and the man's body is quite stuck in there.
Xogar grabs the man and pulls him out.
With a bit of pulling, the man's body roughly comes out of the wardrobe hole. Seeing the man's top half reveals something horrifying - all of the flesh of his face and shoulders has been stripped off, and marks on the bones of his face reveal gnawing.
Xogar only has a few moments to take this in when a terrible growling comes out of the bottom of the wardrobe, and a feral-looking goblin leaps out of it, brandishing a broken sliver of metal.
The goblin sneers and leaps at Xogar, stabbing the little dagger at him...but the dagger doesn't quite reach Xogar.
"Another fiend! Time to finish this once and for all."
Xogar's swing glances off of the wardrobe instead of hitting the goblin, carving off a thin slice of wood. The goblin retaliates by attempting to strike again at Xogar...but it trips over the body of the man its been eating and doesn't even get to actually stabbing at him.
Khalbar looks amazed as Rhanloi relates the goblin's story. "A white-haired woman told goblins to attack. And she had scars on her belly? No, I have not heard this. Humans and goblins do not mix. Human leaders for goblins means trouble, like big attack. Normally goblins not smart enough to plan big trouble."
Xogar strikes again.
Xogar strikes the goblin solidly through its hide armor, spilling the first goblin blood to be spilt on the ground. The goblin, however, stays standing as it drools from the mouth, clearly itching for some nice Xogar-flesh.
Clearly, though, the goblin will have to wait, as its dagger clangs off of the heavily-armored Iomedaen.
Seeing that the goblin is wounded Xogar attacks again.
Xogar delivers another solid blow, yet the creature's hunger and desperation keeps it going. It strikes out again, attempting to carve out at least a bite of the half-orc's flesh.
Again Xogar's scale mail protects him from the voracious little beast.
"Time to put you down you filthy wretch!" Xogar says as he strikes again.
Kyra follows A'letta into the forest, anxious to attack some boar, but also relieved that Aldern has finally shut up.
"We must tell the sheriff and mayor about this. Perhaps they can shed some light on who this woman might be."
Xogar strikes the little gnashing creature a third time, digging deep into its torso with his blade. The creature seizes his arm and begins gnawing on Xogar's armor, teeth chinking. It's forgotten that it's dead. No matter, a few moments more and it remembers, and the goblin stops moving.
When handed the sweetroll, the goblin greedily grabs it, and you hardly even notice that he's started eating before its gone and he's picking crusted sugar off of his face.
The sheriff is shocked almost beyond belief at Rhanloi's claim that the goblins were reportedly lead by a human. "Listen, I need to get some proof on this. I need to...I need to talk to a friend. I'll get back to you soon, alright?"
Ameiko is a fairly young woman, so she doesn't really have anything constructive to add other than her own brand of shock, but Mayor Kendra Deverin does have something to say.
"White hair, you said? I've only ever known one person with white hair, and she's been gone for a long, long time. Nualia, the previous priest's foster daughter, had pure white hair...but she died in the fire with Father Tobyn. You know, the fire that consumed the old chapel."
A'letta is able to pick up on the boar trail and follow it, at least while moving very slowly and methodically, and periodically calling on the spirits to show her the way.
The entire slow walk through the forest is punctuated by Aldern, walking as close as Kyra will let him, stage-whispering things like "How close are they? Can I not whisper? Can we go faster?" and "Have you ever fought a boar before?"
Eventually, though, after almost an hour of hunting through the brush, A'letta leads them to the right place - a large clearing, thirty feet to a side, with a pair of boars quietly foraging through it. The boars aren't really walking in any particular direction, but more like meandering around looking for the best grass.
Pick spends about half of the walk envisioning burying his namesake weapon into the soft human's skull. Still yammering. At least not so loud.
Eventually, though, the spear-woman leads them to sounds of something stirring in the clearing ahead. Pick stares through the foliage in bemused consternation.
Four legs, that end in hooves a little like the curses horses. Big in the front, big shoulders. Also, big jutting teeth-- those look dangerous, he thinks to himself, and makes a mental note to stay to the side and out of the way of those teeth-- but... there are no mole-paws for digging through the earth.
His brows knit together in the shadows of his hood. Hesitantly, he asks the others in a bare whisper, "....how does it bore?"
A'letta speaks softly and in a monotone voice,"They run at you, raise their tusks and try to bury them deep inside your guts. That is why most hunters use boar spears, a spear with a strong shaft and a long, wide flat tip, to kill them and catch them before they get too close. It is best .. if we move back a little .. and invoke the blessing of the spirits first."
"That is disturbing information. The human woman who orchestrated this attack most closely resembles the foster daughter of the former priest, whose corpse was stolen from his crypt yesterday. The darkest of necromancies requires the body of a relative...Was Nualia's body ever found from the fire? Is there anything more you can tell me about her?" Rhanloi pulls out his notebook and quill to take more notes...