At Ahto’s signal, Eunomia looses two bolts of magical energy at the warg.
Ahto stands atop the ridge upon which the sycamore grows and issues his proclamation to the beasts. Even the ordinary wolves seem cowed by his authority, and though they still follow their wicked pack leader, their ferocity is lessened. In fact, despite his bared teeth and growling defiance, even this Howl-of-the-North-Wind betrays signs that he is shaken by this trap - and the betrayal of his enslaved minions.
Caught off guard by this show of defiance, the worg is utterly unprepared as the flaming sphere rolls down the hillside and strikes him square in the face - singing away the fur from his muzzle. His yelp of pain is cut short as Eunomia's magic and the Vixen's arrow press the assault.
At the worg's command, the pack follows him as they race up the winding path to the summit of the stout hill that cradles the sycamore, and soon they are in your midst with teeth bared.
The Vixen slides off her perch (as 5ft step, if legal) and kicks the nearest mutt!
Harmond repositions himself slightly with a five foot step before unleashing a fan of flames. He then concentrates on moving the sphere closer to the wolves.
The Vixen slips nimbly down from her perch, and her second, strong kick - coupled with Ahto's shot and Harmond's spell - brings one of the wolves to a yelping end. Meanwhile. Harmond's fiery magic singes the wounded worg and badly burns the wolf behind him.
Eunomia stays in the trees, not seeing any reason for her to jump down. Her best attacks are ranged anyway. There's one spell in particular that could make life very difficult for the wolves.
A shimmer of golden dust begins to spread, radiating outwards from the middle of the wolves. It covers all of them, making them sparkle even in the moonlight.
Almost the entirety of the wolf pack succumbs to the burst of magical motes that Eunomia unleashes upon them, and they growl and yelp as their eyes are clouded by the glittering dust. Already shaken, as the kobold bombardiers hurl a barrage of loud explosives, three of the remaining four wolves turn to flee. Of course, blinded as they are, they bumble into each other and tumble down the rocky hillside.
Sprocket delivers a strong bite against the worg's flank, and the more primal bulldog shrugs off retaliation from the blinded predator and its remaining pack mate.
However, as the other kobolds hatch out with spear and spell, that last wolf is slain - and the worg now stands alone.
The Vixen steps in close. Her first kick flails wildly, but—
—her second kick strikes just short of the sweet spot!
The Vixen tries to intimidate the word, but…
…a huntress’ daughter should not be surprised that an alpha will not let his fear show even in the face of Armageddon.
Harmond points his wand and the Warg and focuses the occult energies into a razor sharp shard of ice, firing it at beast. Then with a bit of concentration moves the flaming sphere into it as well.
The Vixen's actions carry more strength than her words, for her kick strikes Howl-of-the-North-Wind in the skull and renders the worg very much unconscious. The onslaught of Harmond's spells provides the worg with an escort of fire and ice into Pharasma's realm.
With the wicked pack leader felled, the last of the ordinary wolves lowers its tail and slinks away to follow its blinded pack mates as they withdraw from this doomed battle. A cheer rises up from your kobold allies, who continue to hurl missiles to ensure the fleeing wolves do not return.
The Vixen leaves her glowing arrow to burn with the corpse. She could care less about the arrow, or the wolves being shot in the ass as they flee, or the cheering.
The Vixen's only concern at the moment is that Eunomia is still in the tree.
She immediately scales the tree up to where Eunomia is.
She says quietly, "There's so much ye can do that I can't. But climbing trees is second nature to me. It's me pleasure to help ye when I can."
If Eunomia accepts the offer, the Vixen makes sure she has a secure foothold so she can safely guide the sorceress.
Once Eunomia is near the bottom, VV will jump down to get to the ground first and assist from below.
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Ahto stands over the carcass of the worg, and addresses the assembled kobolds.
"Twice we have freed you; once from the mites and once from the wolves. If you wish to live here in peace, you need to come to us when you are attacked, rather than surrender. Send a messenger, and we will respond. If you continue to side with your enemies out of fear, we will no longer be able to trust you. If we cannot trust you, you cannot stay. Do you understand?"
He asks Wonky to repeat his statement for them in Draconic, to make certain there is no misunderstanding.
The kobolds first look upon Ahto with blended shades of awe, fear, and confusion as he delivers his proclamation, unintelligible to them. However, once Wonky translates, they uniformly nod in assent. The scalecaster that leads this detachment promises to bring this message to Chief Sootscale, but he assures you that their maimed leader will readily agree to this course.
The Vixen asks Wonky to kindly introduce her to the scalecaster. She speaks Sylvan, just in case the caster happens to know it.
The Vixen gestures toward the corpse.
Eunomia gratefully accepts the Vixen's help out of the tree. "Thanks. Climbing...it's never been something I was good at."
Pina had teased her about it. She had been a natural at climbing, swimming, anything that required physical effort, really. Many a time she'd been high up in the trees, whooping with joy while Eunomia had desperately clung to a branch forty feet further down.
She would have made a great soldier, if she'd lived.
Shaking her head to clear it of the morbid direction her thoughts were taking, Eunomia focuses on the kobolds as they chat with Wonky in Draconic. She nods at Ahto's pronouncement. While she sympathizes with the kobolds, (who apparently had very bad luck with tyrannic 'leaders'), they couldn't allow this sort of thing to happen again.
She does however add, "If you need to make a show of surrendering while waiting for us to arrive, that's understandable. But we can't help you if we don't know what's going on."
It's not lost on the Vixen that Eunomia seems a little down when she speaks of tree-climbing. In the eyes of pre-teen Addy and Vikki, the Old Oak was as grand as the enormous Sycamore.
Maybe VV's projecting her own wandering thoughts on Eunomia. She doesn't seem to obsess about Pina the was the Child does, but still...
The Vixen gives Eunomia's hand a gentle squeeze after helping her down. She says nothing of the gesture, and immediately addresses the kobolds.
The kobolds are anything but squeamish, looking on in macabre fascination as Ahto deftly flenses the worg and the two felled wolves. Their eyes, glittering in the dim light, bespeak hope for a fang or claw of their own. When Wonky translates the Vixen's own introduction, they appear more impressed by her show of strength rather than her defense of the innocent.
The Vixen quietly says to Eunomia,
<Apologies if I'm being presumptuous, but the look ye had as we descended the tree… it's like I was seeing a mirror. Yer thoughts were on Pina.>
The Vixen is about to add a 'weren't they?' but decides not to. Ain't a question. It's the truth.
Eunomia smiles a bit wistfully. She's made her peace with Pina's death, but that's not the same thing as getting over it. You never truly get over something like that.
Refocusing her attention on the here and now, she shrugs at Wonky's announcement. "It's not like we have any reports of the wolves taking down patrols; they slaughtered some unsuspecting livestock. Sometimes things just go well. Not every piece of good fortune is a sign of worse to come."
Despite her own words, she joins in looking around the area. While she doesn't think it's likely the warg was working with anyone else, (wouldn't they have shown themselves during the battle?), she's not foolish enough to let her guard down entirely.
Not that she sees much. Just grass swaying in the wind.
From atop the sycamore hill, you see no new dangers moving across the shadowy horizon. The scalecaster, speaking to Wonky as spokesman for his present kin, indicates that the worg gave no indication of serving a greater master. Furthermore, although he frequently led his pack on hunts and patrols through the shallow hill country north of the river - as well as incursions south, into Tamlyn - the worg never stole away to meet with anyone.
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Ahto looks to the others. "Perhaps we just got lucky, and caught it unprepared for a force of our strength. For now, shall we consider the matter closed?"
Assuming there is general assent and no further discussion, Ahto begins making preparations to leave. With the assistance of Wonky as translator, he makes a gift of the two smaller wolf pelts as well as their teeth and claws to the Sootscales. He packs the worg's head, pelt and claws with the party's gear, to take home with them.
"Seems our mission's accomplished. So... have we other business out here? Or's it best we let the farmer know all's well, then head home?" The Vixen trusts the others are better suited then herself for figuring out when and where to rest on the return trip.
"I think we're done here. We can let the farmer know his livestock should be safe in future." Eunomia joins in the preparations to leave and go back to town.
The scalecaster graciously accepts Ahto's gift of teeth and claws. Meanwhile, the other kobolds fall upon the skinned wolves with tiny, sharp knives to cut meat from the animals. A couple of the sentinels gather dry branches, fallen from the sycamore, to build a fire.
With the autumn night deepening, your reaffirmed allies invite you to make camp under their watch.
In the company of the kobolds, the night passes peacefully - although not necessarily quietly, for the small, scaly watchmen sing shrill songs of victory as they roast the wolf meat for dinner.
.....
In the morning, you march south through a thin fog that has risen from the river. Despite the lowered visibility, Wonky's charts and Ahto's accrued wilderness skills guide you safely back to and across the river crossing. On the other side, you ascend the more rugged hills that characterize the Kamelands upon which Tamlyn has been founded, thus rising out of the fog.
Soon enough, you espy Mr. Welkin goading his animals out to pasture. He pauses and squints in your direction before recognizing his visitors, waving a welcome to you from afar.
The Vixen says, "We took out a worg—basically a werewolf with a name, something like, The Wicked Wolf o' the West, or was it, The Longwinded Name o' the North? I think he's The Rumproast o' the Hungry Kobolds now. Won't be harming yer livestock no matter the name."
Eunomia flinches slightly at 'Rumproast o' the Hungry Kobolds.' She hadn't thought about it at the time, barely even able to tell the difference between the worg and the wolves, but...hadn't Wonky said that worgs were intelligent?
Did it even matter? Roasted in a pyre or roasted in a cooking fire, dead was dead. It wasn't like they'd killed an intelligent creature just to eat it.
Yet another moral quandary for her to consider later.
"Ahem. Yes. The worg and his pack are dead." She sits up straighter in the saddle. "Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention."
"Well, that's just about the best news to come across the river in weeks," Mister Welkin says with a smile that fluctuates with the Vixen's mention of the kobolds. "But, um, kobolds you say? They won't be a new danger, will they? They ain't gonna come crossing the river, singing their awful songs, carrying torches to burn our barns, and swinging crooked blades to kill our animals are they?"
It seems that Mister Welkin conflates the habits of goblins and kobolds, both considered deadly pests by most common folk.
Harmond looks to the rest of the group "Perhaps we should do a bit more to integrate them into our society. Perhaps offer them lessons on the proper methods of interacting with civilization. I wouldn't want to them to do something that they consider normal, but which violates our social norms. Maybe offer them culture lessons? Do you think they would read a law book if we offered them one?"
The Vixen says, "I like where ye're going with this, Harmond. Can't say I'm confident they'd sit and read, but maybe there's a sort o' diplomat that ye could work with in-person. I noticed they respond to strength more than anything, so the lesson'd be far more effective—and this is just a guess, mind ye—if the lesson came from someone who earned their respect.
"And I'm confident ye did with that fireball o' yers."
Mister Welkin leans upon his crook and shakes his head.
"Kobold or goblin, seems like it'd be a right difficult feat to civilize the little critters," he muses with incredulity. "What would even be the point? Just more mouths full of sharp teeth to feed."
The Vixen says, “They live out in the wilderness and hunt. Nah, we ain’t out to feed ’em.
“Any o’ the people out there, even if they’ve scales or wings, if they can talk, they’re people. Even the Howling Windbag wasn’t killed for being a wolf. What he did to your livelihood and the kobold tribe, and the fight he put up and his control o’er beasts.
“Too many ands. He was a deadly menace, treated no worse than a human menace. Most, we take alive. But there are a select few who’re so powerful, an arrest presents too many opportunities for escape, and anyone who escapes me arrest and kills an innocent—that’s blood on me hands.”
Hopefully, the farmer buys that bit. It’s the bit most decent people believe without the speech.
She then ties the kobolds to that point: “Any kobold, fey or even worg who professes an interest in living among humans in peace—I’d be a lousy Enforcer if I take the worst o’ their kind and spread it across a whole race or species—especially knowing the worst villain I e’er encountered was a man. Half human, half elf, worse than any worg or wyvern or bandit. No kobold comes close.
“So the only way I can call meself just. Protector o’ the innocent… I give any sentient being presumption of innocence. Those kobolds’re under me protection. I hear about a kobold raid, we investigate. Find out which kobolds’re guilty.”
Welkin straightens his shoulders and adjusts his posture, clearly impressed by the Vixen's explication. His eyes bespeak that he does not comprehend every nuance of her philosophy, but he recognizes the good contained within.
"Well, at least for now we got the river between us and them. Wolves are one thing, but I reckon those little creepers ain't as willing to cross the water."
The farmer heaves a sigh, relieved that his homestead, his flock, and his family are safe thanks to your efforts.
He offers you a meal and a place by the hearth before you return to Horace.
The Vixen’s eyes light up at the prospect of a farm-fresh home-cooked meal. She turns to Ahto, a pleading grin on her face.
Eunomia smiles at the offer of a meal that contains neither trail rations nor intelligent creatures. "Yes, thank you very much for the offer. It would be our pleasure to join your family this evening."
As they start heading off to Welkin's home, she whispers to the Vixen, "Very well said."
"Oh, a home cooked meal? I think that makes it worth the nights on the trail. Harmond seems quite excited at the prospect.
The Vixen says, “It’ll be a pleasure to meet yer family, Mr. Welkin.”
To Eunomia, she replies, “Aw, ya think? Actually, I’ve been struggling a bit about what to do with me position during peacetime. Ash and I started up a self-defense course, which is a great way to relate to the people and keep fit, but then I thought about Tyg and Pervalish. Our li’l fey friends can’t hide from the human world forever.
“So yeah… I guess all those thoughts just spilled out o’ me. But given the reaction, maybe I gotta talk like that more often.”
The Welkin family provides a very simple meal: A thick porridge accompanied by slivers of cheese made from their cattle's milk. Graced with such honored guests, they boil some turnips in clear broth to bolster the meal. Even the trail rations you are accustomed to eating while out on the march contain more protein, yet even this much is a splurge that the agrarian family manages only for such a special occasion.