Eunomia's eyes widen at the sketchbook. "A gown? I mean, I never...when would I ever wear it?"
Shelyn. She's not going to take no for an answer.
"Perhaps something a little more practical?" she finishes weakly. Then she looks again at the Vixen's clothes. Specifically, the 100gp qipao she wears while fighting. I think we have different definitions of practical.
And that dress does look very pretty...
She gives in. "If you're sure you have the time, that dress looks lovely. What are you making for Svetlana and Ash?"
As they start setting up camp, she sets up her own tent then offers to help with any other tasks that need doing. "Do you have a standard watch order? I'm happy to take any slot; I've learned to fall asleep fast and wake up faster."
The Vixen's eyes light up from behind the mask.
"Svetlana's getting a wyvern-wing cloak and a gown similar to what I'd made for one o' me more 'mature' clients. Ash... she's a soldier. She'll likely want something practical, and being a soldier, she might be limited to an accessory.
"What I'd love to craft for her's a wyvern-wing cloak. Particularly, the wing that struck me when I shielded Ash with me body." She apparently considers getting slapped by the wing to be a fond memory.
"Me own dress is both beautiful and practical. Not that I designed it for battle, but the qipao's sideslits're perfect for me weapon o' choice." She pats her thigh-high boots, and assumes Eunomia noticed she kicked that spider earlier.
She closes her sketchbook and answers Eunomia's practical question—
"—About watches, what's yer preference? I can take the dreaded second watch, I s'pose."
Harmond walks over to Vicen and Eunomia's conversation.
"Did I hear that you are a seamstress in addition to a warrior? Do you make clothes for men as well? I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep up with fashion out here in the frontier."
"If you're taking second, I'm fine taking third. That leaves the beginning/ending slots open for Ahto and either Wonky or Harmond." She looks at the others. "Does that work for everyone?"
Practicalities concluded, Eunomia gets a distant look on her face. "A cloak, huh? If it wouldn't interfere with your creative process, I could actually help with that. I've been learning how to imbue various items with magic, and I think I could manage a minor protective spell on the cloak. Nothing fancy, just something that she could command to protect her against a ranged attack. It would only work once, but after being 'used' the cloak itself would still be fine."
Blinking, the distant look vanishes as she smiles. "Sometimes all you need is that one-time protection. And that way the cloak would be practical as well."
The Vixen notes the expression on Eunomia, as does the Child. She is quick to remove the mask. Addy/VV takes in every word, particularly the last few. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a different sketch book than before.
As the Addy persona gains control, she first responds to Harmond. "I'm afraid ladies' fashion's me area of expertise. But o' course y'know enough about fashion to not be surprised by this, judging by yer question. I did note yer taste in clothing, which is admirable. But I'd surely botch an attempt to meet yer need," she says apologetically.
When she opens her sketch book, there are several drawings of herself. In some, she is wearing a white gown with a veil kicking with a white shoe. In others, the qipao, but bare-legged with red high heeled shoes. In some, she is dressed as she is at this moment. She is kicking in every drawing, some of which are boxed in a rectangular frame to neatly separate each image.
"Ye mean ye're a spell-crafter... right? Like Edna the Magical Cobbler! Not like y'know who's who in Silverhall. She helped me make me boots! They fit me shape so perfectly, I fight as if I'm kicking in the nude, and on top o' that, the heels're masterwork weapons. They can even be magically enhanced—and they'd have been if not for me being down to me last platinum coin.
"Oh, I'd love to work with ye on me girl's cloak—long as I can afford the material. I know spellcrafting ain't cheap."
She puts her hand on Eunomia's. Addy's own expression is deeply sympathetic despite the sorceress' smile. Her eyes start to well with tears as she musters the nerve to say what's on her mind.
"I... need to get out o' me armor before we rest. Would ye mind coming with?"
Additionally, she's starting to get emotional. Is her strange word choice another coded message: "Can we talk in private for a bit?" Or is it just completely obvious that Addy's looking for an excuse to talk to Eunomia alone?
"I admit I was wondering about the boots. They certainly seem to do a lot of damage. As for the cost..." Eunomia shrugs. "If I was doing something like enchanting it permanently, that would definitely be beyond my means, and probably yours as well. The material components for this spell are pretty cheap comparatively. At most 100gp, which I have. There are certainly worse things to spend it on than a little extra protection."
A bit confused by Addy's sudden display of emotion, Eunomia nevertheless responds, "Of course. Lead the way." Did I remind her of something painful?
She is not at all shy, judging by the heartfelt words that flow while she changes outfits.
"Forgive me for being presumptuous, and please, don't think I'll take offense if what I'm asking ain't me business and ye tell me so. It's just that... ye mentioned that one-time protection. And I was wondering if maybe ye're burdened with the memory o' the one ye couldn't protect.
"Ye had this distant look... like one I've seen in mirrors o'er the past four years, when I could bring meself to look in a mirror. It's not lost on me I could be wrong. But if I ain't, it helps to talk about it... if ye're willing. And able."
Eunomia isn't particularly shy herself, having spent a lot of time in various barracks. Still, she averts her eyes politely.
Hearing Addy's question shocks her a bit. Oh. Oh! She'd been thinking she might have touched on a sore spot for Addy, and it seemed like she had, but that wasn't what this conversation was about.
For a moment, Eunomia hesitates. It's not like it's a secret; everyone in Liberthane knows the story. But do I want to talk about it?
...Why not? Who knows, maybe it will help us both.
"Thanks, Addy. You're right, I was thinking of someone. I don't mind telling the story; it's been five years and I've had time to mourn.
The first thing you have to know: Liberthane was founded on when Commander Parsall and his soldiers conquered a bandit fort. Ever since, we've had to defend it. Mostly from individuals hoping to snag a few things from the outer farms, but occasionally there will be a full-scale attack. Some bandit leader with more ambition than sense will see the fort and decide they want it.
I signed up to be a soldier as soon as I came of age. My best friend, Pina, signed up with me. Liberthane is too small to have dedicated classes or anything for new recruits. Instead Commander Parsall assigns them to a mentor. Someone experienced who can teach them what to do. Our mentor was a behemoth of a man named Glor. A good man, even if he never could beat swordplay into my head.
Two months into our training there was one of those full-scale attacks. Glor ordered us to stay in the fort with the rest of the civilians. Pina...disagreed."
'We were given an order to stay here!'
'People are dying out there while you blather on about orders!'
Shaking away the memory, Eunomia continues. "She ran out. I followed, but froze pretty much as soon as we got outside. It was chaos. I'd never seen a real battle before. Pina didn't hesitate though. She charged to the first bandit she saw and actually managed to kill him. I don't really know what happened next. Maybe she froze; a lot of new recruits do the first time they kill someone. Maybe she just didn't see him. Whatever the reason, she didn't dodge when another bandit shot an arrow at her. It went right through her throat."
Eunomia blinks away a few tears. She can still see the shocked look on Pina's face as she'd fallen to the ground. "Anyway. It's been years. I've done my mourning. But I do still think about her a lot, especially when I'm around a new recruit. And, well, when I realized how new Harmond was to all of this I put him in that category. So she's been on my mind all day.
Like I said, sometimes that one-time protection is enough. And if I can offer that much at least to your girl, I will. It's obvious how much you care about her."
Eunomia hestitates, then takes Addy's hand. "Thanks for listening. And if you ever want to talk about what happened to make you wary of mirrors, I'll listen."
Harmond seems let down when Addy mentions she only does women's clothing, but then he almost immediately perks up again.
"Well. Maybe when we get back to the trading post I can write home and see if the latest seasons fashions are in in Restov. Perhaps I can have them shipped down."
After consoling himself Harmond walks off, lost in contemplation. He sits by the fire and pulls out his spell book to study, while he takes the first watch.
"Vikki was her name..."
Addy starts her story, telling of a childhood where the horrors of war were easily avoided as her parents—Daddy a "barbarian," Mother a Huntress—managed to provide Addy with a life of peace and prosperity.
That is the very effect Vikki Finn had on her.
Addy was nine. Vikki was ten. The two redheads passed as sisters, and were destined to be BFFs for life. Vikki was the prettier one. Her hair didn't frizz up like Addy's. The privilege to braid Vikki's fiery locks more than compensated for envy. As the playmates grew into their teens, Addy found herself craving the touch of her friend's rosy cheek. One day bathing in the river, she gazed into Vikki's deep blue eyes and declared, "Ye're a mermaid, Vikki Finn." Her friend replied, "Addy, you're a fox." How those words made Addy's heart pound! Surely, Vikki saw the beat rippling Addy's bared breast!
Alas, Vikki was betrothed to Gill Bluebeard. Such a waste that a previously-married man would have a virgin bride, the very maiden Addy lusted over since her hormones kicked in. But her strongest feeling for Vikki was—and still is, mind you—Love. Thus, Addy was elated to be the bridesmaid on her "sister's" big day! She held her tears until the day ended, and spent the whole night finalizing the decorative trim on Vikki's gift, intent on delivering it come morning.
Surely, Gill would not resent the brief intrusion upon seeing such a fine eastern-style gown hanging in his wife's wardrobe. And oh, how the form-fitting dress would look on Vikki's body!
Addy entered the mansion, for the massive mahogany door was not locked. She set the gift aside and called out to Vikki. There was no reply. But who could hear a lady in such a labyrinth? Addy snooped about, gently announcing, "Just me, Addy the artsy bridesmaid. I come with a gift," she added to explain the breaking and entering.
What could not be explained was the smell. Mansions smell of fireplaces, flowers, fine wine—yet it was the door to the wine cellar where the stench was especially potent. Instinct told Addy to flee. But Love told her, Vikki needs you.
The sound of a swing brought childhood memories of the subtle emphasis two ropes, a board and a fluttering skirt placed upon feminine beauty. Addy clung to this happy place in her past, until she descended the steps to a reality where her friend now swung, not from the old oak tree, but from a rafter in Gill's cellar.
Tears did their best to mask the horror, but the eyes—faded to a soulless ice-blue—had already imprinted their image on Addison's frontal lobe. The whole of it was overwhelming. Vikki was still clad in her bridal gown. And she was not alone. The rotting corpses of six other Mrs. Bluebeards dangled about the room.
The wooden ladder was still set by Vikki's body. Addy took out her fabric shears and cut her friend free. She must have spent the next hour holding her, sobbing.
Then Addy had a thought. You're a fox, she imagined her friend saying. "I love ye," she replied as she took out a hairbrush. It took a very long time for Addy to straighten her own curls, and even longer to braid them. "I love ye," she repeated as she stripped her friend. "I love ye," she said again as she dressed Vikki in her own clothes.
Naked Addison carried her fallen friend past the other brides, laid her body behind a wine rack and said, "Goodbye, me love." She embraced her friend for as long as she dared—then sprang into action.
Addy hastily streaked upstairs. Front door closed? Check. Gift? Grab it! Leaving the upstairs as it was prior to her arrival, Addy bolted back down, stowing the unveiled attire alongside Vikki's corpse.
Addy donned the bridal gown and those pointy white shoes. She practiced balancing with both stiletto heels on one step of the ladder, practiced clutching the broken noose with chin and neck. Only a fool would mistake her for hanging—but at a glance, this would work. A pale redhead is where she should be, Gill would see.
By the time he did, Addy's performance was well-rehearsed.
The unsuspecting husband tromped loudly down the steps. Tromp. Tromp. Tromp. He admired the disheveled frailty of the pale redhead at the end of her rope.
Until his eyes met the Vixen's. Green. Lively. Cunning. Predatory. Addy sprang like a fox, embedding a stiletto heel in the big man's throat! There it remained affixed to Gill's blue goatee. Addy stumbled on her lopsided footwear, grinning at the absurdity until calloused knuckles struck away her snarky satisfaction!
Thick fingers wrenched her neck, but Addy was stronger than most men. Vikki's killer would not be the exception. She broke free, dropped the man with a stomp to the kneecap, and as Gill Bluebeard lay prone, the Vermilion Vixen proceeded to bash the man's face against the basement floor until it was littered with teeth, blood, and Mr. Bluebeard's last bowel movement.
Addy left him in that undignified state. As for Vikki, she was laid to rest in the master bedroom, dressed in the vermilion qipao painstakingly crafted by her dear childhood friend.
...
The funeral did not bring closure. Addison wanted closure, wanted love, happiness, a bridal gown and a bride of her own.
But all the Vixen wanted was a pair of stilettos that don't break when you kick a man in the throat.
"Or die trying," she confesses. "I thought death would bring me to Vikki. But embracing crazy seems to be working out. I'm alive, and... maybe because o' what we lost, or 'cause o' what we're a part o' now...
"Maybe a girl or two, five or ten years our junior'll be spared from mourning her Pina or her Vikki."
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"This wand will allow for someone to cloud the minds of conscious creatures of some intelligence with the charismatic projections of their own making," Wonky says with an erudite satisfaction as she hands the wand over to Harmond. "It would be good of you to tell us if there is any specific psychic residue leftover on this copper item of magic power, if you are able."
She then turns her furrowed brow back to the stone, repositions her glasses, and hums to herself. "This round stone, however, remains a puzzle. These lines here -" Wonky points out a few grooves on the surface of the rock to no one in particular - "I think are associated with the tracks of the stars in the night sky, but there just seems to be not enough..."
The gnome trails off for a bit before looking back into the treasure trove for loose pieces of waterlogged paper. "I wonder if the person who possessed this stone left notes for the use of it," she thinks out loud, now half-hanging into the hollow at the base of the tree as she rummages for instructions. Harmond!" she calls out, her voice muffled by the earth. "Harmond, does that book have anything to say about star charts or astronomy?"
The party makes camp in the lee of the gnarled oak, sheltering them from an easterly wind. Wonky and Harmond take the first watch, if only as excuse to continue examining the lost alchemist's writings to salvage what knowledge they may.
Much to her dismay, Wonky discovers that the loose papers suffered even worse damage than the formula folio. Nevertheless, her sharp and persistent mind salvages a few details. The lost alchemist spent much time trying to decipher the stone's carvings, largely fruitlessly. However, he suspected that there were deeper layers of information about the natural world hidden within its carvings.
Upon the lone hill, the party's campfire seems to draw attention from at least one pair of eyes. A lone humanoid figure, wearing a cloak with its hood pulled down, approaches from the west. He holds up his broad hand, perhaps in a gesture of welcome or to grab the party's attention.
Harmond takes the wand with a nod of thanks and places it in one of his spring loaded wrist sheaths, placing the Mage Armor wand that was in there into his bag.
"No, I don't see anything about astronomy. Maybe I'll pick up some useful impressions from the last owner?
He looks up as the cloaked figure approaches, his train of thought interrupted.
"Hello there!"
Eunomia listens in horror to Addy's story. Pina's death had been terrible, yes, but...they'd been soldiers. Eunomia might not have fully grasped what that meant at the time, (what sixteen-year-old truly understands their own mortality?), but she'd known intellectually at least that they could die.
What had happened to Vikki though...that was a degree of evil that Eunomia had never seen. There was no purpose to it. No sense. Just killing for the pleasure of killing.
It explained a lot about the Vixen though.
Planning out and executing a cold-blooded murder, no matter how much the man deserved to die, is still something most good people aren't capable of. So Addy created someone who was capable. Someone who wouldn't hesitate. Someone who could do what she couldn't.
Knowing that there isn't really a good way to respond to someone else's tragedy, Eunomia sits in silence, squeezing Addy's hand reassuringly.
Until she hears Ahto's voice outside, indicating that there was someone approaching.
Giving Addy's hand one last squeeze, she rises to her feet. "I should get out there, see what's going on." She glances back at the redhead. It's 'Addy' right now, she's out of her armor, and she just had an extremely emotionally draining conversation. She's in no shape for a fight.
Her voice gentle, she says, "Take your time. It doesn't sound like anything urgent is happening. We should be able to handle things, and if we can't we'll call. No need to rush in before you're ready."
Eunomia heads out of the tent, eyes immediately going to the stranger. Openly approaching, so either he's confident he has nothing to fear from us...or he's a distraction from something else.
Leaving Ahto to deal with the stranger, Eunomia heads for the horses. That's a ploy I've seen before; distraction from the front, make off with whatever you can from the rear. And if that's the case the horses are the obvious target. She looks around to see if someone's lurking in the area.
In an emotionless tone, the now-topless redhead says, "I only need a minute." She lays out her mithril undershirt...
As Addy resumes her Vixen persona, she dons a black blouse and black hat with a vermilion rim. Black bloomers cover the upper thighs, leaving very little flesh exposed—only a portion of her cheeks and chin, her lips and the nape of her neck—and even that can be covered by VV's black silken scarf.
She gets to where she can see the party, but doesn't reveal her presence to the stranger. (At least not intentionally.)
"Good evening," he calls out through the deepening night. "I saw your fire from afar. My name's Morton. I'm a hunter. I'm afraid I stayed out a bit too late and got caught pretty far from shelter."
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"Come forward into the firelight," Ahto says in a pleasant tone.
"I am Ahto Ulrych of the Church of Abadar. If it will reassure you, I swear by the First Vault that I, as well as the others in my company, will not harm you unless you offer violence first."
Ahto makes no move to draw a weapon, and keeps his hands open and away from his body.
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Seeing the traveler's face makes Eunomia mentally slap herself. Of course there's also a third option: that he is frightened but considers us the lesser of two evils.
While it seems that Ahto has already come to the same conclusion, she nevertheless casts a quick spell so she can speak to everyone without the stranger overhearing. "I can see his face; he's terrified of us. I don't think he means any harm."
She heads back to the fire, but does so deliberately slowly and casually. She still keeps an eye on the horses just in case, but it's more out of paranoid habit than because she genuinely believes they might be stolen.
Between Ahto's words and the voice in her head, VV relaxes herself. Having some experience with this spell, she mouths a response, knowing only Eunomia will hear her.
The Vixen slinks back to the tent to change her clothing... again.
"Well rattle my antlers, I wasn't expecting to find a holy man out here," Morton says, visibly calmed as he approaches closer.
As he crests the hill and draws near the campfire, you see that he wears thick hide boots caked with mud. His woolen cloak is covered with burrs and nettles. He carries a hatchet, shortbow, knife, and other sundries one would expect of a hunter.
"I heard some folks from Rostland have been clearing out the bandits around these parts, but you can't be too careful, you know?" he speaks with a smile, warming his calloused hands by the fire.
After a pause, he grows a bit sheepish before admitting, "I don't have much to offer, I'm afraid. Didn't have much luck catching anything today."
Addy approaches the stranger, barefoot and clad in a robe one might wear at a luxurious inn. She is wearing a pair of black bloomers for modesty, but has no armor or shouldered bow.
"Seems I should've shot one o' those hares after all," she says in response to the Hunter's apology. "Addison Lane's me name. And I believe ye're Morton? Apologies. I was within sixty feet o' ye, making sure yer intentions're honorable. It's like ye said, can't be too careful.
"Ye're not the first to come to us with rumors about us. Unless there's another group taking out bandits, assassins, giant spiders, wyverns and the like."
Addy sits down on a rock, crossing her legs in a posture suited for a fancy tea party. "Please, make yerself comfy, Morton."
Harmond smiles and gives a friendly wave to the newcomer.
"Hello. I'm Harmond. I would love to take credit for getting rid of bandits, but right now I'm afraid I can only claim giant spiders. Come, sit with us."
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Wonky pulls herself out from the hollow of the tree, earth and bits of compost stuck in her hair.
"Did I hear that we have a visitor?"
She perks up as she spies the hunter. "Hello, friend. My name is Wonky Prong, Jr. You have come upon us at a most serendipitous time. We were just about to make camp for the night!"
"Yes, this is Sprocket. His bark is much worse than his bite, but they all pale in comparison to his slobber. Please come and join us but you will have to pardon me. I am trying to put together some pieces of a puzzle..." The gnome trails off, peering at semi-decomposing papers with some effort augmented by the glasses at the tip of her nose.
"Harmond, did you find anything of interest about this stone in that book?" Wonky persists.
Harmond glances over to Wonky.
"Nope, not a thing. I would suggest you read the book, but, and I'm just guessing here, seeing as how it is unrelated to the current puzzle you are attempting to solve, you probably aren't even going to open it until you've figured out the ball."
He gives a good natured smirk.
"It's nice to meet you Morton. My name is Eunomia." She looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. 'Didn't have much luck' he said, and he's out this late...I wonder if he's hungry.
"I have some extra trail rations if you've not had dinner yet."
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True to form, Wonky ignores the book that Harmond suggests needs her attention, focusing on a different aspect of the oddly-carved stone.
"I wonder how the natural world is tied to this stone. Clearly there is some connection here." Wonky considers her experience in the Green Faith and her ecological expertise as she looks anew at the stone.
"You're putting me on," Morton laughs with a wave of his hand. A dawning look of realization plays across his face, alongside an eager smile, when it becomes clear that you are sincere.
"Well how do you like that? I'm sharing a campfire with some genu-ine heroes! I suppose I owe you even greater thanks. It's been quite the relief being able to travel without worrying about bandits robbing me, gremlins eating my toes, or kobolds outright killing me."
Morton accepts the proffered trail meals along with the rest of the party's hospitality, and he soon feels comfortable enough to talk about himself.
"My own life's hardly a tale. I been hunting around these parts for going on four years now, after a regretable stint in the army over in Pitax. I have a...well, I guess you could generously call it a cabin, just south of the Shrike. 'Course, it's been harder to get to it after what happened to Nettles."
At his own mention of this name, "Nettles," the gregarious mood drains from Morton's face as he recalls something clearly unpleasant.
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Wonky's concentration on the stone momentarily sated by her recent epiphany , the inquisitive gnome pops her head up from where she's largely been ignoring the campfire conversation.
"What happened in the Nettles? If I recall correctly, it was one of the local Aldori sword-lords who was championing the charter to explore the Kamelands. I would hope that level of martial prowess would be sufficient to surmount any challenge south of the Shrike."
"I do like the sound o' that word 'hero.' Not sure I've done enough to earn it yet. Nearly everyone I've set out to rescue seems to've saved me in more ways than one."
Addy certainly recognizes such a look (as she and Eunomia were just talking about).
"I was just telling me new friend here about the one I failed to rescue." She gestures to Eunomia, then goes on, "Whatever it is that happened to Nettles, I guarantee there's more than one of us at this fire who carries a similar pain. If ye care to tell us o' Nettles' fate, it helps to talk." She states this opinion with such certainty, it sounds as if she is stating a fact.
Harmond looks over to Addy and whispers excitedly.
"He called me a hero! Am I a hero now? All I did was help kill that spider. IS that enough? How are these things measured? Is there a regulatory body that determines this kinds of things?"
"Well, you see, Nettles wasn't a place. He was a man," Morton explains. "Davik Nettles was an engineer, down from...um, let's see...well sticks, I can't rightly remember. I think he hailed from up north. Anyhow, he retired down to the Greenbelt and build a rope bridge across the Shrike. It was actually the only safe crossing across the river. I reckon he made a good living, charging folks a couple coppers to cross. I used to trade him a rabbit from my catch every other time I'd need to cross the bridge to get to Oleg's."
At this point in his recounting, the last vestiges of mirth vanish from Morton's face.
"I don't rightly know how it truly happened, but I came to use the bridge one day a few weeks ago, and I found the bridge's ropes had been cut and Nettles' cottage had burned to the ground. Talking with some of the other locals at Oleg's, best we can figure, the bandits came 'round demanding a cut of Nettle's tolls. He probably refused and, well...yeah."
When Wonky's map of the region is brought out, Morton readily points out where Nettle's toll bridge once spanned the Shrike River. He also offers insight into the relatively dull landscape south of the river.
"All ye did?" Addy replies to Harmond. "Oh, ye did more than help. When ye tossed that fire in the hole, ye flushed out the giant spider and its brats and they were already well-cooked. It's 'cause o' you we won the day unscathed.
"Ye had the safety o' those around ye in mind, and I'd say that makes ye heroic."
Recalling Sams' words when he passed on the cloak of resistance, Addy adds, "Ye're not the first to think I'm an authority on what makes a hero. I honestly don't know if I've the right, but I definitely wouldn't trust a regulatory body. If our deeds spread, and people—commonfolk, families, innocents—I mean if regular people hear the truth of us, and they love us rather than fear us... then I guess that's when we've earned the title.
"Those we save, or make safe... they decide whether we are truly heroes."
"I'm sorry to hear about Nettles. He sounds like a good man. Perhaps the bridge could be rebuilt in his honor?" Eunomia is a little uncertain on that last part, as it's not something she could do herself. But given how much trouble she'd had finding a place to cross the Shrike, another bridge would be useful.
Over to one side, she hears Addy and Harmond debating about the nature of heroism. She can't help but smile at Harmond's enthusiasm. "Addy's right. You did more than anyone else during that fight. As for what makes a hero...I don't think it's about what you do necessarily, it's about who you are. Are you someone willing to go out of your way to help others? To try and make the world a better place, even when it's hard?
The most heroic person I know is an old herbalist in Mivon. He's probably never fought a battle in his life. But he does provide his services to anyone who asks and refuses to charge for them. He survives entirely off of donations. Trusting your very survival to the generosity of others, just so every street urchin knows they can come to you for help? That's heroism too. At least that's what I think."
Harmond blushes at the praise. Its obvious he is not used to receiving positive feedback.
"Well thanks ladies. I'll try my best to live up to your ideals.
He turns to address the group.
"So, what are we going to handle tomorrow?
Addy replies, "Far's I know, we're still on for taking out that bullfrog tomorrow."
As for the bridge and Eunomia's definition of heroics, Addy says, "The opposite of a hero would be those who go out o' their way to make the world worse. Murdering a bridgekeeper and destroying his bridge...
"Guess there're some people who've reason to fear heroes." Addy turns to Ahto and asks, "Is our plan still to return to Oleg's after taking out the frog tomorrow? If locals 'round Oleg's have an idea o' what happened to Nettles, maybe we can learn the identity or whereabouts o' the bandits who murdered him."
You heard them speak mournfully of the deceased bridge keeper, and they also spoke with relief about how the "new hero folk" had avenged the man. Much like Morton, they knew he was a retired engineer from Brevoy, but they knew little beyond that. Evidently, Nettles was rather humble and quiet about his past.
At least one man claimed to have seen the dead Nettles haunting the ruins of his bridge and home.
"I seen him, still carrying that spear of his, guarding his livelihood even in death!" the trapper had said.
"It'd be right decent of you to rebuild Nettle's bridge in his honor," Morton agrees. "And I'm not just saying that 'cause it'd help me get to my cabin on the far side."
Addy is reminded of her training days...
"When I was learning the bow, some o' the huntresses'd tell ghost stories by the campfire. Not sure how many'd an ounce o' truth to 'em. Just a bunch o' teenage girls trying to make each other squirm."
In Addy's mind: a vivid image of Vikki pressing against her by the fire.
"But in a lot o' the tales, the ghost was a murder victim who refused to rest until..."
Another vivid image: the moment Addy looked into Vikki's lifeless eyes.
"...her death was avenged."
Harmond yawns and stands up, stretching.
"Well, I'm beat. I think I'm turning in for the night. Miss Prong, I'll leave this alchemical formula book by your bedroll so you can look over it at your leisure."
With that he gets up and heads back towards the tent.
"From what I've heard, it's entirely possible that Nettle has already been avenged. The rumors indicated that most of the bandits from this area have been cleared out. If his spirit is haunting the bridge, perhaps all we need to do is inform him of this."
As Harmond heads off to bed, Eunomia says, "Oh, that reminds me. I only just joined the group today, and had brought my own personal tent with me from the south. I think the plan is for me to start bunking with Addy and Wonky, so Morton, you're welcome to use it. That way you won't get woken up whenever the watch changes."
Plus that way neither myself nor Addy will have to fall asleep alone. It's been an emotional day, and I suspect both of us could use the comfort provided by another presence.
Addy says nothing of watches as Harmond goes to bed. Once he's in his tent, Addy says to Eunomia, "I told ye second watch sucks." Though Addy had previously referred to it as 'the dreaded second watch,' she's clearly only kidding at the moment.
"Kidding aside, Daddy always told me Mum needed her beauty rest, but I learned later that Mum needed a full night's sleep in order to perform her magic.
"Point being, I ain't a magician. I can handle a double watch. Especially if Morton don't turn in right away."
She asks the hunter, "Care to keep me company on first watch, Morton? I just need to throw me armor back on and grab me bow."
Her tone becomes a little more serious when says to Eunomia, "Thanks for bunking with me tonight."
"Well sure," Morton says with a warm smile. "After getting to meet you folks, I reckon I'm too excited to sleep right away. I feel like a lad again."
The rest of the night is peaceful, with no new figures emerging from the darkness for good or for ill. Through the first watch, Morton keeps a respectable distance from Addy - even more so from the Vixen - but he plies her with questions about her adventures. Rather than any sort of ill-fated romantic notions, he seems possessed by a modicum of hero worship.
The morning eventually arrives, leaving a dappling of dew upon the grass and sparse leaves lining the branches of the gnarled oak.