Pym gives up on Snjórinn's mask and flutters around Annalísa's head before the Ulfen shoos her away. Pym harrumphs and makes her way to Aðvinr, tugging on his beard.
Raising an eyebrow in amusement at the little fey's curious antics, Aðvinr moves to the other side of the door, holding his spear ready he give Annalísa a nod.
Annalísa pushes open the door and you find this room empty. Three doors open into this room. A sturdy bed heaped with blankets sits near the only window, and a large maple chest occupies the southwest corner.
"We can check out the chest later, and those furs will come in handy." Aðvinr says turning to the adjacent room and taking one side of the door.
The little fey's antics bring a small smile to the shaman's lips.
Delilah shoulders her crossbow, standing a bit back from the door with it ready to be fired. "Ready."
Annalísa pushes open the next door.
The door swings open to reveal another empty room. A single bed with a rumpled winter blanket fills the area along with another chest.
Hundur moves to the next door, sniffing along the bottom before barking at the door.
"We'll come back to this same as the other, looks like we've got something in this one." Aðvinr says moving to the other door.
Mirri couldn't help but laugh at Pym's antics, the tiny fey was truly a breathe of fresh air on this trip and incredibly useful. The elven woman stayed nearby as they checked room by room and was prepared to do what was nescessary should trouble arrise.
"You know," Machaera says glibly as the group moves carefully through the room, addressing no one in particular, "This place would be quite nice, if it weren't for the diseased bandits. I'm surprised they were just able to settle in."
Before she can continue, Hundur's bark causes a more serious look to flash over Machaera's face, before she casually, but quietly settles to one side of the door. Bringing the blade of her sword up between her eyes, she prepares herself to wheel into the room as soon as everyone's ready to go through the next door.
Annalísa moves to the door and pulls Hundur back before nodding her head to Machaera.
Machaera opens the door to reveal a kitchen. A large fireplace takes up most of the north wall of this room, its radiant heat providing palpable relief from the cold weather outside. A pot of soup simmers on the fire. Cabinets and shelves line the remaining wall space, and four windows look out on the wintry landscape surrounding the lodge.
Next to the fire, with a shortsword drawn, stands a female half-orc. She looks nervous as she stands in a defensive posture, ready to defend herself.
Not hearing a volley of arrows strike the wall when she opens the door, Machaera peers through the doorway. When the woman inside doesn't charge, Machaera quickly assesses the situation as best she can and speaks, she hopes, both gently and firmly, "Heldren sent us to find Lady Malassene. If we can bring her back safe, no one else needs to get hurt. Why don't you put the sword down, and we'll talk?"
She's not about to lower her own sword first, though, and it cuts a lazy circle through the air as she nervously tests her grip and offers a display of self-assurance - unthreatening in itself, but showing that she knows her way around the weapon. She silently calculates the likelihood of getting a spell off if the other woman makes any sudden moves. Let's just hope everyone can be reasonable. There's more steel, spells, and fur between the half dozen of us than any sane person would want to try to force their way through.
With the nervousness of the situation Mirri stayed ready in case she needed to help stop the occupant of the room from causing her allies any harm.
"You would do well to do as she says. You are sorely outnumbered." Aðvinr says calmly.
Delilah stands watchfully, not quite willing to speak up let her shivering be interpreted as weakness. Instead, she keeps her crossbow leveled and stares at the half-orc.
Theora nods slowly at Maechera's words, a small smile twitching the corner of her thin lips. Well-said, dear she thinks, holding up an empty hand. "We won't hurt you if you don't hurt us, now, dearie," she says in a soothing tone. "You haven't made a move against us, which works in your favour." She nods towards the pot on the fire. "What's that you're cooking?" she asks, keeping her tone warm and gentle. "You're not with those awful raiders, are you?"
The half-orc glances around at the group - those that she can see at least and licks her lips nervously before letting the tip of her sword drop towards the floor. She keeps it in her hands though, unwilling to let go of the one thing she has to defend herself when faced with so many armed people that she doesn't know.
"I uh... they found me... I didn't have anywhere else to go," she says locking eyes with Theora. "It's horse soup. For the sick men.
Annalísa grunts and leans against the door frame as the half-orc lowers her weapon. She's more than content to let the more diplomatic folk talk to the half-orc so long as that sword doesn't come up again.
"Other than the four sick ones, how many others are here?" Aðvinr asks planing the butt of his spear on the ground.
Machaera lowers her sword and nods thoughtfully. "And did anyone leave," she adds. "They might have bundled a noblewoman through here - the woman we're looking for - quickly, trying to shake off any pursuit."
She darts a glance at the others that shows her worry about not knowing how many raiders there are, in how many groups, and with what head-start. Despite all those concerns busy in the back of her mind, a gentle, quizzical expression crosses her face as the half-orc's words sink in.
"But where were you headed, then?" she asks softly. She thinks of the letters of introduction still tucked into the pages of the spellbook in her pack, edges feathered and fragile after an improbable detour, herself delayed for years, but still, knowing she has people to go to... "We're going to have to turn the rest of this place upside-down if it will help us find Lady Malassene, but I'm sure the people of Heldren will be glad to know where they can round up some of these raiders."
Her terseness carries her unspoken question across the silence. How long will you stay here alone? Until someone else comes to claim this place? What then?
The half-orc licks her lips again and her eyes dart around between the group. "I was... they found me in the woods... I had to leave Demgazi... I'm not sure how many of them there really are, they come and go guarding the surrounding area. There usually isn't more than a few of them here at a time, 'sides for the sick ones... and Rokhar," the name comes out as barely more than a whisper. "The Lady though, I know where she's at. I can show you and... and you can let me leave."
Miri seemed relieved at this turn of events, there'd been enough fighting thus far and it was more than time to take a rest. She looked at Delilah and said quietly, [smaller]"We need to get you warmed up. Come along and don't argue with what I tell you to do, I ask that you trust that I know what I'm talking about."
A twitch of distaste passes over Machaera's face at the name she remembers from the raider they interrogated on the way up to the cabin. Not someone to look forward to meeting, then. With some unease, she asks, "Is he still here? Lurking somewhere?"
Catching some of what Mirri murmurs to Delilah, Machaera thinks quickly, Hope it won't take too long. If this Rokhar is still near about, or if there are more raiders hoping to warm up soon, we might not have that much time to catch our breath.
She continues, her concerns lending her words a bit of briskness, and leading her to pick up some of her interlocutor's informality, "All right then, just two more things. First, show us where Lady Malassene's at, and then you're off. Second, the people in Heldren would probably be glad to know where the raiders are coming from. Ask around for Councilor Teppen, and tell her that Annalísa and Theora have got us giving these raiders more trouble than they expected."
Looking over at Mirri directing Delilah, Aðvinr nods to both of them. "The place is secure enough for now. There are ll the furs in the bigger room. We have this part under control."
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As Maechaera proposes her point to the half-orc, Theora turns to Mirri and Delilah. "I'd wait until we're quite finished here, if I were you," she murmurs. "We don't know how many there are, and we haven't found this 'Rohkar' yet. There could be more waiting upstairs or downstairs - and it would be easy for them to catch you in a compromising position." She shrugs off her crow-feather mantle, offering it to Delilah. "It's not much, but it might help a little," she adds with a kindly smile.
Turning her attention back to Machaera and the half-orc, she nods along. "You've been very helpful, dear," she says encouragingly. "How about you give us your name, so we can find you back in Heldren?"
Delilah nods, shivering slightly and eyeing the half-orc's fire enviously. After a moment, she pulls her eyes away from it and refocuses on the situation. "Theora's right. I r-really want to sit by the f-fire for a while, but there's too many possibilities that could go wrong. Let's ch-check up and downstairs, then m-maybe we can have some of your soup." She shrugs into the bigger woman's cloak, the feathers reaching the floor, and then grins.
Turning back to the half-orc, she furrows her brows. "Who's Demgazi?"
"Is he still here? Lurking somewhere?"
"All right then, just two more things. First, show us where Lady Malassene's at, and then you're off. Second, the people in Heldren would probably be glad to know where the raiders are coming from. Ask around for Councilor Teppen, and tell her that Annalísa and Theora have got us giving these raiders more trouble than they expected."
The half-orc licks her lips nervously before slowly pointing towards the ceiling. "The Lady is in the cellar. I'll show you," she says taking a tentative step forward and watching the rest of you intently to be sure you'll let her pass.
"You've been very helpful, dear," she says encouragingly. "How about you give us your name, so we can find you back in Heldren?"
"My name is Ten-Penny..."
"Theora's right. I r-really want to sit by the f-fire for a while, but there's too many possibilities that could go wrong. Let's ch-check up and downstairs, then m-maybe we can have some of your soup."
"Who's Demgazi?"
"What? No, it's a place. A town. You can have all the soup you want, I don't care. I just want out of this place."
Machaera resists the urge to close her eyes and sigh as she realizes that Theora is much better able to talk to people. I'm a mage, not a diplomat, she thinks. Guilty memories flicker through her thoughts of just getting as many of her fellow shipwreck survivors through a distant jungle as possible, of people she left behind, and attachments she could not accept. It's not even dinner in the Great Hall back home. At least there we had magecraft in common. And that was before I took up the sword in earnest...
She nods at the half-orc's last comment, thinking about how tense a border town can be for anyone who doesn't fit in perfectly. "I passed it on the way to Zimar before I turned north. Thank you, Ten-Penny - try to keep safe." She smiles nervously, as if to say she knows she's not the most polished speaker, and relaxes to makes sure Ten-Penny doesn't have to worry about getting past her.
Mirri, realizing that Delilah isn't as cold as she thought, shrugged her shoulders and stood aside so the half-orc could show them to the person they were searching for.
Ten-Penny tries to smile but it comes across as more of a grimace as she moves past the group into the main room. She indicates the ground beneath Delilah, Machaera, and Mirri's feet. You glance down and see that the three women are standing on a bear skin rug.
When you step aside, the half-orc pulls back the rug and you see that it hid a trap door. The door, however, is locked.
"She's down there," Ten-Penny says.
Frowning down at the trap door Aðvinr looks to his companions. "Anyone good with locks?"
Machaera shakes her head, then looks up towards the head of the stairs. "I'm afraid that I'm not, but I bet I can guess where we can find a key," she says softly.
Gripping her sword more tightly, she flexes her free hand to test her acid-burnt fingers from her spell mishap earlier in the morning. "It might get messy, but it will also mean one less surprise to worry about. I'm not sure I like the risk of getting interrupted while trying to get our lady out of here, especially with all the snow to slow our escape."
A hint of nervousness can be discerned in her voice, but only under stern determination.
"Machaera's right. We should make sure all of the raiders and their leader are dealt with before trying to get that door open. It might be harsh, but at least down there she's safe for the time being," Annalísa says.
"True. Any other rooms we have yet to clear here? The grounds of this place would e next," Aðvinr replies.
Mirri stepped aside so the passage could be revealed and replied to the others, "I agree, let's finish this. As for the rest, I think we covered it all didn't we?"
"Actually, there's just that one," Machaera says, pointing to the door opposite the kitchen's, at the foot of the stairs. Without further ado, she steps over and tries it.
Leveling his spear at the door, the shaman stands to the side readying himself for any possible opposition.
Annalísa points to the staircase, "Upstairs before we go back out."
Machaera opens the door to reveal a dark, empty bedroom. A bed sits undisturbed and a wardrobe takes up most of a wall.
Striding into the room, Aðvinr opens the wardrobe, looking inside.
Mirri entered the room as well and began to search it too. She wasn't sure there was much to find in there but she was going to try anyway.
Seeing the pair have the search well in hand, Machaera indulges her preoccupation with how the group might best approach Rohkar. Both that raider and this Ten-Penny were frightened of him, she thinks. And the raider mentioned that he was a priest, and had to come to an arrangement with some fey. We have one enthusiastic front-line fighter, a rather wild priest - who's just taken a bolt from his shoulder, a proper mage, then myself, and a very shrewd archer and midwife, and a resourceful scout, to say nothing of a handful of familiars...
Out loud, she asks, "Do you generally favour the crossbow, Delilah? I'm just wondering what we'll find at the top of those stairs - I don't want to deny anyone who chooses a place to swing a sword from the front."
"Um, n-no, I don't. I d-don't favor anything much, really." Delilah shakes her head, looking at the elf with downcast eyes. "I trained a bit with the sword, but not really well enough to be a real hotshot at it. I can hold my own, though."
The wardrobe contains linens and a washboard, nothing else of interest.
Delilah works at the lock until it springs open in her palm.
With a satisfied grin, Delilah holds the lock up in triumph before calling to her friends. "Hey, I g-got it!"
If the room below is dark, she draws her rapier and a lantern, uncorks one of the vials she's carrying, and sets the liquid on fire inside the lantern. "That should last a while!" She peers into the pit below, looking for her charge, Lady Malassene.
Mayflies, Machaera thinks in exasperation, then, somewhat contritely, Yuelral grant me patience. She revises her calculations for worst-case scenarios, knowing that one lucky arrow at a target fleeing through heavy snow will put paid to an attempted rescue. She shifts into a more responsive posture, watching the stairs anxiously for anything that decides to come down.
And I want to know just what's going on here. Who will this Rohkar take it out on if we abscond with his prisoner? And this weather... There's too much to leave unfinished, to just leave other folk to deal with. A mirthless grin cuts across her face. At worst, I think we can provide a memorable distraction.
A ten-foot ladder leads down from the trapdoor. A half-dozen boxes and barrels take up the majority of this underground cellar. A rough blanket lies spread on the floor in the southeast corner next to a bowl of half-eaten food. A woman peers up at you from the darkness, her hand shielding her eyes from the sudden onslaught of light. Her clothes, once fine, now dirty, torn, and ragged. Bruises and lacerations cover much of the exposed skin.
Miri joined up with the others working on the trap door and said to the, "I'm afraid there's nothing of any real interest up there. How are you doing with the door in the floor...oh!" Miri looked down into the room and saw the woman in the corner, "Are you all right? Can you make it up here or do you need help?"
Aðvinr's eyes narrow, a palpable anger emanating from the shaman at the sight of the numerous bruises on the captive woman's skin.