Durgan rides hard for two minutes until the fear clears. Then he sheepishly rides back.
"We need to find out what that was. And I need to prepare the spells to ward against fear if we come back this way again.
Serena, Angus, Numalar, Erevenywg, I am in awe of your resolve."
If his shift is done, he turns in for the night.
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Numalar waits as the bizarre creature leaves. And then longer, and longer still.
When he is convinced the creature is gone for good, he breathes a sigh of relief.
"Everyone all right?" he says as he looks around. "That thing smelled of swamp... I propose we stay out of the swamp for the next while."
He turns to Erevenywg.
"Erevenywg, ceri-cin ped-ún i na-? Whui ha tul-?"
"Na- -yes coati, Noom-maul-are?" After a moment she looks down sadly. "Ni ruce- ni care- vamme sinte sina nór's laman, mal ni trime ana han-."
Tears well from Erevenywg's huge eyes.
"Oh Noom-maul-are! -yes was rúcima!" She collapses next to Numalar grabs him tightly, and begins to sob.
Tears well from Erevenywg's huge eyes.
"Oh Noom-maul-are! It was terrible!" She collapses next to Numalar grabs him tightly, and begins to sob.
Angus doesn't move a muscle. He just seems to stare off in the direction the thing went. His knuckles are white upon the haft of his axe.
Scarlet is halfway down the road when she suddenly hits the brakes.
Pause. She grunts in frustration.
"Bah, why am I runnin'?" She turns around and hustles back. "Come on, Alia!"
A few minutes later, she arrives back at camp, ready to kick... nothing's here. She sheathes her swords. "Did... did you kill it?" No corpse. "But you're still here, and unharmed."
"What... was that?" is all Serena can manage to utter.
Zokon stalks back into the camp from a an angle no where near where he left, he walks in and snatches up his arrow.
"I guess we'll finish up our watch, back to bed the rest of you.." he clearly does not want to discuss this event but he also appears to not want to bug the others about their own experiences.
Eventually Illthir too realizes that running headlong into the night might not be her best course of action. After a few minutes the skald returns to the camp, with new and somewhat uncomfortable material for a nighttime horror story. She doesn't look too happy about that though.
"Bleh. That's not the way I'd like to wake up ... " she sighs and sits down near the scattered blankets that had been her sleeping spot. She starts to organize them again but stops after looking around. No-one really seemed at piece and the poor fairy was even crying. Ouch.
Despite wanting nothing more then following Zokon's suggestion she couldn't help but feel the sleep wouldn't be pleasant nor restful. "Hmmh. I think I'll stay up for a little while longer. Hard to just lay down after this..."
Illthir rummaged trough her gear until she found her flute and started to play a soothing tune, and eventually some song, hoping to calm and relax the party.
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"...Oh Noom-maul-are! -yes was rúcima!" She collapses next to Numalar grabs him tightly, and begins to sob.
Numalar tries to comfort Erevenywg.
"Ennas, ennas. Ha na-lelya-hi."
"What... was that?" is all Serena can manage to utter.
"I do not know, but it spoke the language of the fair folk. Our fey lady here didn't recognize it either."
Durgan listens to Illthir's music and appreciates it. It is soothing, and the skald is quite good. He props himself on his elbows in his bedroll. "As Scarlet implies, did it just leave? Did it even say what it wanted? To send half of us fleeing and then disappear... strange."
He's still not sure what to make of Erevenywg. She didn't flee, but she's clearly upset. Claims she doesn't know what it is, but Numalar says it spoke her language. Do I believe her? I can't understand her, so I don't know what her exact words were. Isn't that a concern with faeries? I'll have to learn her language.
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"It called us 'despoilers.' I'm not sure what that referred to, though it seems like it didn't take kindly to being shot at. Just before it left it said it would be watching us. Or perhaps it meant me specifically." Numalar shrugs.
"We ought to ask around to see if anyone can identify it by the description. It sounds like we haven't seen the last of it."
"Well, to be fair, most don't like being shot at." Illthir takes a brief pause to join the speculation. She put down her flute for the moment and reached for her waterskin, saying a brief spell over it.
"So! Let's see what we know. Doesn't like 'despoilers'. Doesn't mind running around at night - or in swamps. And it was more or less skinless. Hmm..." the skald takes a sip of her wine and passes it around, then resumes playing. An idle tune to help her sharpen her mind. Maybe there's a story somewhere that would be handy?
Scarlet squats next to Erevenywg.
Zokon tries to help Illthir figure out the quandary of the beast, he takes a mouthful of the wine before handing it on.
"Well lets see, i'm not sure, your wine seems to have lulled me a little."
Zokon does a few jumps to clear his head a little
"Nuckelavee. That's the name of its race, right Erevenywg? Normally those are Evil creatures, right? What did we despoil?"
After talking to the fairy she turns towards Illthir. "Hey, do you think that was a Nuckelavee? An evil fey creature?" She shudders. "Hmpf, what did we despoil?"
Erevenywg gives Scarlet a confused look. "Ni ósanwe -yes 'coati'."
"Well -" Illthir chuckles at Zokon. "It's still wine... Just a little extra too!"
"Hmm. 'Nuckelavee'? I have no bloody idea. Maybe? At least that is a starting point... Now only if we have somewhere to go with it." The name seemed vaguely familiar, so at least it was something and that thing could have been that something. Or something like that. "I wonder if Mivon has a library. Or a scholar of the faë?"
"But I guess we should make a point of being careful with what we do out here from now on. Not 'despoiling' anything if we can avoid it. Hmh. Maybe it was just cranky?"
"More than enough... things have been haunting me. I don't need one more on the pile."
Scarlet eventually drifts off to sleep, uneasy.
"Maybe it's complaining about us corrupting our guest? If she is a first-worlder, the mere prolonged contact with us may taint her essence. So then, things like that show up trying to free Erevenywg from our influence...", Alia suggests.
"I think I like your theory the most Numalar. That means it might soon realize we're the wrong people and stop bothering us. Much more then your idea Alia - I can't help but feel that the Nuckelavee isn't any sort of helpful critter. Though I could be wrong of course ... but raiding a camp in the middle of the night brandishing a sword? Hmm."
"Thats because most Fey are not helpful critters...they are raw, they are dark, and they are dangerous.", Alia comments. She was well aware the Fey would be allowed to stay...but being helpful once or twice did not magically redeem her whole species...
"Maybe it just didn't like the cold iron in the arrow I fired at it?" he says questioningly
Durgan is quiet. There's a lot of speculation and not a lot of facts to go on. He tries to think of where he might learn more about fey in general and nuckalavees in particular.
"Maybe ..." Illthir mumbles. She wasn't sure what to think. Or at least not what to do about it. Looking around, maybe Scarlet had the right idea. *Yawn* "Mmm I think I'll go back to sleep..."
Nothing not even birds or swamp bats bother the party for the rest of the night nor the following couple of days.
The land slowly becomes more civilized. Cart tracks appear cutting through the plain's tall green grass. Chimney smoke can be seen drifting on the wind and party passes by a keep (more of a fortified manor house really) and adjacent hamlet surrounded by earthworks and farmland.
Farther along the party spies another such community on a distant hill, and still more signs of increasing habitation. And then in the early afternoon two days after their encounter with nuckalavee--the stone walls Mivon appear at the convergence of two rivers and several streams, set up upon a series of rocky hills amid the otherwise marshy lands. The city proper sits to one side of the river and Mivon Castle home to the Lord Mayor sits upon a high steep hill overlooking the town just to the east on the opposite shore. The partly clouded sky with bright sunbeams shining though provide dramatic lighting of the castle, city walls, and the landscape around. Bridges, farms and small satellite villages surround the town, all connected by ribbons of road, making it look like an artist's conception of some idyllic fantasy kingdom far far away.
"Huh. These people still seems quite worried about bandits. Or fairies. Why don't we stop by real quick? They might have heard something. And I'm simply curious what people think about their new Lord." Illthir briefly stop her horse when they pass by the manor.
Serena nods in agreement and clicks her tongue to bring her mount about.
Durgan is also interested in stopping by. "If Lord Raston Selline has been here for several years, he must be doing something right to retain the support of the people - or at least compel them to accept his rule. It would be enlightening to hear their opinions."
"Mm true. I was thinking of the generous Baron, but now that I think we obviously left his lands long ago. Might not hurt to ask - it's almost their door-to-door neighbour!"
"What are we doin'? Fine." Scarlet shrugs. She doesn't care much about authority- except for her brother.
"Let's take note of any supplies and stuff we need, hopefully we'll be able to get stuff here.. " says Zokon as he is looking around
"Aam beginnin' tae hink ye ur jist haur fur th' secht seein' lass." Angus growls under his breath in Scarlet's direction, obviously angry at what he considers yet another delay.
The lands around the manor seem familiar to those who have lived in Brevoy, peasants working their fields and trying not to attract the attention of those whose bearing casts them as those of a higher cast.
The pathway leads to a copse of trees when sounds of swordplay intrude upon the pleasantness of the morning's ride. Then suddenly a sword flies from the bushes and impales a tree a few feet to the right of Alia's head.
"BLAST!" curses a long-haired human lad in fighting attire who comes stomping up out of the brush apparently in search of the blade. Initially startled by the party he recovers quickly and scowling says: "Who are you?"
"Probably someone you should be nicer to, seeing as how we now are closer to your sword than you are. Also maybe the lady is owed an apology if you didn't mean to hurl your sword at her?" Zokon says pointedly to the man
The boy's face turns red with anger to the point of near-apoplexy.
"Notice there are no weapons drawn on you boy, we are peaceful people, I myself am Zokon Santyev of Brevoyan Medvyed family line."
Zokon says with a calm voice, then he dismounts his horse.
He removes his spiked gauntlet and puts it in his saddlebags.
"With a bit of luck we'll be marching back this way soon." Illthir comments, after a few moments of deciphering Angus accent. She uses her most soothing and reasonable tone. "It might save us a lot of trouble to know how people important enough to have armed men of their own reacts to marching troops."
---
"Gee, yes, I think sword-hurling is one of those almost universally rude gestures." Illthir mumbles to herself and reaches out to pull the sword out of the tree. This very scene reminded herself of when she first tried to learn fencing and she really couldn't muster any hard feelings towards the kid. At least since he missed Alia. "Nice to meet you too; I'm Illthir Winlowe."
During the brief introduction she weighted the sword in her hands. She didn't really know that much about swords - but compared to anyone sending them flying trough glades she was pretty much an expert. Walker took a step or two forward so Illthir could lean in and hand the blade back with a friendly smile. "I think you are holding on to it too tight; if you let it flex a little you won't have the blow resonating up your elbow. Have you ever seen those annoyingly calm mystics from Tien? That's the right mood for swordplay."
Durgan dismounts and extends a hand to the boy. "How do you do? I am Banker Durgan Far-Walker. I served the Lodovka house for several years and am now doing the work of Abadar in these lands.
We heard sounds of swordplay. Have you a sparring partner nearby?"
Serena remains mounted, eyeing the boy suspiciously. Her weapon is sheathed, but she remains at the ready.
"I'm not in the mood, kid. Put the bow down."
Scarlet keeps her swords sheathed, but she's quite serious about anyone who opens fire on her protectorate.
"With a bit of luck we'll be marching back this way soon." Illthir comments, after a few moments of deciphering Angus accent. She uses her most soothing and reasonable tone. "It might save us a lot of trouble to know how people important enough to have armed men of their own reacts to marching troops."
**SNORT!**
There is more rustling from the forest from behind the boy, and out rushes a big frantic man dressed for fighting holding a big metal club.
"Pardon! Pardon! It is my fault! My humblest apologies to the dread lady!" He bows a number of times to the boy and Alia, and one for the rest of the group. "Please spare me. I was sparing with the young Lord Westolv here, when my inexpert hand jostled the sword from my lord's hand. I meant no harm. It is only my own natural clumsiness that smote the tree before you." With his last show of obeisance, he stays partially bowed.
Illthir (and most others with any significant connection to the region) notes that the lost blade is of the sort used by Aldori duelists. It is a heavy blade that is a sort of straightened scimitar or curvier katana without much of a crossguard, and a long grip like on a bastard sword--basically a giant machete. The weapon itself is well-appointed and acid-etched.
"Foolish wretch! Stop your blubbering! You are embarassing me before these people." The boy says haranging the big man. "Medvyed? Lodovka? The names of those traitors that serve the memory of Choral the Usurper who once sat upon the Dragonscale Throne! And the newest usurper, Surtova from Issia! Tell me do you northern folk have so little honor that you would willingly serve any tyrant who sat upon that seat?"
"I am not an expert in the history of that dispute," says Durgan calmly, "but my accounting services would be available to your house as well, should your ledgers need reconciling. I did not serve Noleski Surtova myself and do not know his character."
Durgan does his best to sound dull and boring.