Your words draw a sneer from the hobgoblin captive. He replies to you, perhaps surprisingly, in Common. "Who is the Kulkor Zhul? That is a foolish question. I am the Kulkor Zhul. My brothers," he nods his head towards his fallen companions, "are the Kulkor Zhul. We are the all Kulkor Zhul. We are the People of the Dragon, and we will no longer be denied what is rightfully ours. We fight only for ourselves and our honor." He spits on the ground beside you, "I'm sure your people would understand, if you had any."
Your words draw a sneer from the hobgoblin captive. He replies to you, perhaps surprisingly, in Common. "Who is the Kulkor Zhul? That is a foolish question. I am the Kulkor Zhul. My brothers," he nods his head towards his fallen companions, "are the Kulkor Zhul. We are the all Kulkor Zhul. We are the People of the Dragon, and we will no longer be denied what is rightfully ours. We fight only for ourselves and our honor." He spits on the ground beside you, "I'm sure your people would understand, if you had any."
Adele switches to Common as well, keeping her tone gentle and easy. "What is rightfully yours that has been taken from you? This land? Or something the ruler of this land possesses?"
The hobgoblin shakes his head, "Nothing has been taken from us. We have a right to these lands because we have the power to take them. Right of arms is the only right worth anything."
The hobgoblin shakes his head, "Nothing has been taken from us. We have a right to these lands because we have the power to take them. Right of arms is the only right worth anything."
Adele smiles. "Then you must grant our right to prevent you from doing so," she says, gesturing at the dead hobgoblins around them. "One of your colleagues mentioned a name, an ... Azarr Kul? Is he your leader?"
"Why do you call yourselves People of the Dragon? I wasn't aware that hobgoblins claimed any draconic ancestry. Or do you follow a particular dragon?"
"Why were your operations set up in this farmhouse? Merely because it afforded you an easy way to ambush unfortunate travelers?"
"One of your colleagues mentioned a name, an ... Azarr Kul? Is he your leader?"
"Be sure to speak that name with reverence, halfling, for that is the name of your future ruler. You will know him soon enough."
"Why do you call yourselves People of the Dragon? I wasn't aware that hobgoblins claimed any draconic ancestry. Or do you follow a particular dragon?"
"Azarr Kul brings the strength of the dragons to our people. You will know this strength in due time."
"Why were your operations set up in this farmhouse? Merely because it afforded you an easy way to ambush unfortunate travelers?"
The hobgoblin sneers, "As if I'm really going to share that with you. I may not be as beautiful as you soft races, but that does not mean we are stupid." He motions with his chin towards Maysalkirii, "But perhaps you are confusing me with this kind. I have told you enough. This conversation is over." The captive sits in silence.
"Listen." Adele leans closer to the bound hobgoblin. "The hobgoblins are Kulkor Zhul, and obviously more than just the band we defeated here or you would not be so confident in Azarr Kul's ultimate victory. Are others Kulkor Zhul, or just the hobgoblins?"
"Your time on Golarion grows short, soldier. Do not go to Pharasma's judgment without a redeeming deed to speak for your life. Where is Azarr Kul? Where can we find him? If he is as powerful as you say, you will only speed our deaths by directing us to him, will you not?"
The hobgoblin smirks and his voice drops to a whisper, "You know, you look just like a human woman we found a few days ago. Lovely little farm. A garden, cows, white-picket fence. We hit them early in the morning while they were still asleep. We killed her husband first. He was pathetic enough to try to defend himself with a kitchen knife. Then we dragged her into the yard and had our way with her. Afterwards we made her watch while her three children were torn apart by our hellhounds." He leans in and sniffs the air, "Hmm, you even smell like her." He sits back and smiles, "I am finished, peck. Kill me or leave me."
Without much forethought, Findor takes up his bow and rapidly knocks a durable arrow, ready to release it into the forehead of the disgustingly rude creature. He waits for a signal.
As far as I can tell, you have no honor.
"Although I feel hatred for this creature, I am against his cold blooded murder. I wonder if there are any local deputies who might try this monster for his crimes...and save you the arrow, Findor," Dragox mutters, disgust evident in his voice.
Findor relaxes his bow, but keeps the durable arrow in hand.
It's reinforced with iron. Reusable.
Findor waits for Adele's comment.
Spitting to the side of the road is the first sound Narses has made in a while. "Baahh! My guess is that this merry little band of cut-throats and theire friends is why we were summoned to this region in the first place. I'll loose no sleep by cuttin it's throat. In fact, I'll sleep better.
Looking to Dragox he sneers, "I thought your godess was a tough one! Fire n'brimstone n' all that! Then you go and shirk at punishing a creature with no remorse! I'll have none of it!
Pulling a knife Narses makes to cut the hobgoblins throat.
Maysalkirii is watching the exchange with clenched fists and a pale face. He seems to be shaking in anger...
Findor reknocks the arrow, nodding to Narses.
Death to the unrepentant... was that not what we decided earlier? Not only is he unrepentant, he scorns and mocks the very ideals that our faiths espouse; this creature makes a mockery of sacred life itself.
Findor's eyebrow raises over his visible eye.
Death to the unrepentant.
Adele rises to her feet, sorrow and disdain written plain on her face. "This creature shows no regret, no repentance for the evil he has done. If he could somehow escape us, he would commit even more atrocities," she says firmly. "However, we are not as yet officially deputized to mete out justice in this realm, so we have no right of execution." She pauses. "Cut him loose and let him take up his sword. If he will, let him fall on it as did his companion. If he attacks us, we will cut him down in self-defense, and if he attempts to flee, Findor's arrow will stop him from doing violence to anyone else. Whichever way he chooses, his death will be on his own head."
"There is a difference in destroying an evil opponent on the field of battle and murdering a bound prisoner. But I think Adele has a solution. I have no problem allowing him his chance at battle, if he so chooses. And if the coward falls on his sword, much the better."
The hobgoblin raises an eyebrow, "Suppose you hand me a sword and I just sit here, doing nothing. What then, geniuses?"
"Once you are free, if you choose to sit on the ground and not take your sword, I suppose Findor will be retrieving an arrow from both your corpse and the ground. That is your choice, of course."
The hobgoblin eyes Dragox, "Then what are you waiting for, half-breed? A written invitation?"
Findor leans his head over to look around the bow.
I believe we are waiting for your choice to cooperate. Although if you refuse, death will come swiftly.
"Well then untie me and give me a sword, knife-ear." He looks around at the party, "Who am I fighting?"
"Findor, your arrow stays on him in case he tries to flee. Aside from that," Adele shrugs, "Narses would probably take the most joy from the task."
Loosing the bands from the captive hobgoblin, he stands and accepts the proffered sword. The smirking grin fades and his face is schooled into an almost contemplative serenity. He turns the sword on himself and falls to the ground. His corpse twitches for a moment before lying still.
The farm and roadway are eerily silent.
The pile of loot has been secured, assuming no one minds using their mount for transporting the pile of equipment. Dellin's Ferry lies ahead, but there are well over a dozen bodies lying in the road.
Adele shudders in distaste. "Shelyn grant that is the last time we have to take a hobgoblin alive." She stares bleakly around the carnage-strewn landscape. "We can't leave all these bodies lying about lest they cause disease. I suppose we ought to pile them up and burn them. And we ought to do something about the state that poor farmer's house was left in, should his next of kin wish to claim it. If we can find a nearby house on the road whose rightful inhabitants are still in it, we can ask about the man's family, and perhaps inquire as to the identity of the woman."
Your pony is well-trained, and only strayed a few dozen yards before stopping to happily munch some grass.
"Sheylin can work to keep theese wretched things from human lands if she like. Erastil is pretty clear on what to do with them if they get any ideas."
Looking over the scene of carnage Narses spits on the road. "Well, they certainly havent earned a buryal in my book but if we leave them they will attract wild animals. We can't be having that.
Starting to gather the hobgoblin corpses in a pile with dry wood and grass he looks to his companions. Come on! Somone help me burn these bastards!"
I'm sorry the Hobgoblin upset you Adele... Feek says with sincerity. Next time i'll make sure none are left alive to mock you... he finishes, patting Adele on the back reassuringly.
The piled bodies light easily with the aid of grasses and tree branches. Their flesh and fat sizzles disturbingly in the great heat. The smell is revolting. A column of black smoke rises above the canopy of the forest and into the sky.
A few hours worth of digging in the soft soil of the farmer's field and some whispered prayers allow you to give the victims a decent burial. You feel reassured that you have given them the respect they deserved in death.
It is now late afternoon. The road to Dellin's Ferry lies clear.
Feek will take point with Narses. At the first sign of a settlement or travellers, Feek pulls up his hood and assumes a persona the party is familiar with- Anson the surly and quiet halfling.
I'm sorry the Hobgoblin upset you Adele... Feek says with sincerity. Next time i'll make sure none are left alive to mock you... he finishes, patting Adele on the back reassuringly.
The goblin's unexpected chivalry makes Adele laugh, and when she replies, she uses his adopted Draconic name, something his companions almost never remember to do. "Why, Maysalkirii Weyog, you are quite the gentleman! But the creature's foul words have no power to insult me; sadly, one can expect no less from a being who has spent his entire existence devoted to evil rulers and evil gods. No," her face grows more thoughtful and sober, "it was the manner of his death that disturbs me. It was necessary to question him and, after that, necessary that he should be destroyed since he showed no inclination to cease his evil ways. But I shall feel better when we have seen the ruler of these lands and been granted official authority to do justice on his behalf. And," she adds, "I shall be glad if we can find a temple of Shelyn somewhere in this realm, that I may seek guidance and advice from her servants."
Scoffing at the mention of 'official authoroty' Narses looks to Adele. "Not that I mean to offend, but I doubt anyone is going to compalain over dead monsters. Maybee about the smell. But not about beeing alive and breathing becouse no monsters are tearing them from theire beds."
Looking at the postition of the sun he spits to the side of the road and says without looking at the group. "Com'on! Daylights burning and we've been delayed long enough. Let's go find our mr. Oficial Authoroty.
The road descends into a small town built mostly on the near side of a broad, sluggish river. Six old stone piers jut from the water, marking the spot where a bridge once stood, but the span itself is long gone. Instead, a couple of long thick ropes cross the river, each secured to a flat-bottomed ferryboat. Brown fields and green orchards surround the town.
A group of armed townsfolk - three in leather, one in mail - stands guard, watching you warily. "Halt and state your business, strangers." one of the guards says. He is a burly man clad in scale mail with a curling, waxed mustache.
"Anson" stays near the center of the group, hood up and attempting to look innocuous.
Hooking his thumbs in his belt Narses glares at the men, sizing them up. [/b]"Were here about the goblinoids. Sent by the Lord of Brindol."[/b] spitting and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
As the group continue onwards, Maysalkirii gives each member of the group two of the ten potions he successfully identified, explaining their purpose is to sharpen the senses of the drinker for an hour. He distributes them so everyone has two in their backpack.
Shortsword
Armor
Scroll One
Scroll Two
Dragox takes a look at the particular items recovered from the battle, while traveling toward the Ferry.
Smiling apologetically, Adele maneuvers her pony in front of Narses. "Pardon my companion's blunt manner. We understand that this land is suffering incursion by goblinoid raiders and are en route to Drellin's Ferry to volunteer our services to repel these invaders and protect the populace. Could you good fellows direct us to whomever is in authority here?"
Smiling apologetically, Adele maneuvers her pony in front of Narses. "Pardon my companion's blunt manner. We understand that this land is suffering incursion by goblinoid raiders and are en route to Drellin's Ferry to volunteer our services to repel these invaders and protect the populace. Could you good fellows direct us to whomever is in authority here?"
The watchman sighs and his shoulders relax, "That's good to hear! Stand down, boys. You're going to want to head to the Old Bridge Inn. It's in the middle of town just on your right as you head in. We'll have a runner go and tell Captain Anitah that you are here to see someone." With that, he nonchalantly waves you by and returns to conversing with his fellows.
Welcome to Drellin's Ferry.
You are approaching from the southernmost route, at the middle-bottom of the map. The watchman's directions point you to the building marked #10. Would you like to go straight to the inn, or would you like to explore?
I think we should go straight to the inn and warn the people of the relative closeness of the hobbies we just encountered.
I am anxious to settle in for the evening. Feek mutters in Common. Once the sun has truly set, i'll get to know this little village and its quirks...
Findor nods in agreement, though he says nothing. His palms were already itching for the comfortable feelings of sword and spellbook.
Walking briskly to the Old Bridge Inn, you are met by an empty common room and the attendant, a young man very absorbed in a book he is reading. He barely looks up to point to a ledger to sign your name in the guest book. A few coins exchange hands () and you are each given keys to your rooms upstairs.
You're just settling into your rooms when a knock comes at the door. Outside in the hallway stands a tall, balding man of about fifty (pic) and a capable-looking swordswoman (pic). "Sorry to trouble you, travelers, but I'd like a few minutes of your time," the man says. "My name is Norro Wiston, and I'm the Town Speaker for Drellin's Ferry. This is our guard captain, Soranna. I'll get right to the point: We're in a lot of trouble, and I was hoping I could persuade you to help us out."
"Pleasure to meet you both. I am Dragox, and we have heard about your possible goblinoid problem. We met some of their bigger kin a few miles back down the road."
"Goblins is what were here for so ye won't be need'n much persuasion. We started on this merry trip after seein' one o' your posters." Narses pipes in in his usual diplomatic maner.