"We have business in Riddleport. Piddling about here in this puny pockmarked pissant puddle of a port does not move us toward our goals."
Smirking, Gristav offers, "...provide pertinent progress per prescribed path?"
Soberly, Gris assents, "We've no chain of command, in a town full of enemies. I'll follow the pack."
One man (Ambusher 7) carries two sets of manacles.
"Which two of us do you think Read meant to keep?", Gristav asks openly, not waking the man who had the shackles to ask, but rather tossing the shackles toward Braddon.
Seeing Snake and Phillip near read, Gristav calls, "Remember the cape and the shield, and open whatever brighter eyes you might have..." In a punctuation to the magi, Gristav then casts Detect Magic.
Following his own advice, if not Phillip's actions, Gristav next speaks to the archer. "Without reaching toward it... tell me, what's in the pouch, who are you, how do you come by your skills, and are you for hire, in that order."
Tendal passes his hand over his eyes and mutters "Conspectu." Then, eyes aglow with inner fire, he sweeps his gaze over the various assemblages, when necessary, working with the others to relieve the unfortunates of their belongings.
"If we have the moment, we should relieve Reed of his armor. If we decide to sell it, it will help replenish my necessaries for scroll-making."
Looking about, Tendal quickly realizes that the rest of the group is ready to move, and there isn't time to deal with the armor. "Good enough then. If we are going to make haste, let us be about it."
Noticing Tendal's eyes lingering on his purloined satchel Phillip adds "Perhaps the generosity of strangers will need suffice, stripping the armor would add too much risk for the reward."
...taking his eyes from Read and fixing them up towards primarily the archer still at field he deadpans "He twitched..."
Braddon give the archer a comradely slap on the back.
"You're lucky you surrendered first."Hoisting their ill gotten gains, Braddon waves to the others.
"Let's go. I need a drink. Being accused of banditry is thirsty work."
...taking his eyes from Read and fixing them up towards primarily the archer still at field he deadpans "He twitched..."Braddon give the archer a comradely slap on the back.
"You're lucky you surrendered first."
The archer, his scowl deepening as Braddon confiscates his possessions, looks only partially mollified by Phillip's comparative treatment of Harvey Read.
Gristav next speaks to the archer. "Without reaching toward it... tell me, what's in the pouch, who are you, how do you come by your skills, and are you for hire, in that order."
The archer's eyes, if not his hands, go to the pouch at his belt. "Liquid healer ... which I stand in need of, thanks to your friend here," he growls. "Folk call me Bran, I was learned to shoot by my old dad, and I'll take a job if I like the pay ... and the employer." His tone leaves little doubt that the party does not, at present, meet his second condition.
Contented that Read is now an ex-concern, Phillip moves on from the corpse and stows his crossbow. To the others he adds "Whatever we're doing we need to do it moving..." focusing upon the need for haste above all else.
On the topic of the archer he adds "Hobble him and leave him unless you're willing to see him more permanently placed beyond concern. The coin you'd offer wouldn't outweigh his exsanguinated loyalty." suggesting that one set of manacles around his ankles would easily remove the archer from immediate concern.
"Not the entire world is as dark as your mirror. Must you insult every witness to our having been attacked?", Gristav asks rhetorically as Phillip makes his haste and passes. "And it's not an offer, it's a debt."
"Walk a ways withall, would you, Bran?", Gris asked. Confident the archer would follow his bow, Gristav continued, "I'm not sure when you arrived, but I had called out an evening's drinks as a counter-bid to Read's offer. You've earned that, I judge. I hesitate to offer you more, because, what I would hire of you, is that you owe me nothing."
Three gold coins appear between Gristav's pinching fingers, held toward Bran.
"Again, I'm not sure when you arrived, but you surely heard me calling for truce, saw me tending to the fallen. I ask you to trust my motivations. I would ask of you that you carry all of what you saw, to the Governess, truthfully. Not as my agent; just as a witness."
"You'll be asking after your bow. A warrior, defeated, his arms are prize of the victor, in certain lands. I cannot force the matter, but I think, if you'll ask, comradely, you may find it returned to you. He's a pleasant fellow, just... very deadly."
"And as for the liquid healing, you may even have less use for that, if we come to trust you more, if you come to distrust us, less?"
"He tells the truth of the lay he'll state to the honour he saw me put a quarrel in Read's head as he lay insensate." shrugging at Gristav's complete betrayal of loyalty towards the party in favour of some desperate attempt to con favour from either the Governess or the defeated archer. "Might be you'd like to see me decorating a gibbet, but I'd have words and actions to the contrary."
Looking instead to Tendal "Unless you see any reason to see the Governess I'd wager she'd consider the state of her underling somewhat of an affront?" pausing to hear Magnimar's take on the situation before adding in Braddon and Serpe to the mix "We need be moving... I've no desire to be here when the txerri paillartac from the Cove come back with their pitchforks."
The last thing he says to Gristav in parting, putting his back to the half-elf and trusting to Serpe, Braddon and Tendal following is "Make a choice..."
Looking instead to Tendal "Unless you see any reason to see the Governess I'd wager she'd consider the state of her underling somewhat of an affront?" pausing to hear Magnimar's take on the situation before adding in Braddon and Serpe to the mix "We need be moving... I've no desire to be here when the txerri paillartac from the Cove come back with their pitchforks."
Tendal glances over at Reed, lips pressed tightly together in disapproval. "No. I think not. As I said previously I see no point in burdening her, and we have business that was delayed by Reed. I doubt that he was working for the Governor beyond the name and position...he knew that she and I had some friendship and sought to eliminate us either as rivals or on some other benefactors coin. Traitor I called him, and a traitor's death he was rewarded. Sometimes the legal niceties just get in the way of justice, and I do imagine that removing Reed from the Cove is a bit like lancing a pustule. At the very least this particular infection will not get worse."
"Gristav, as suggested, I recommend that you hobble the archer so he cannot trail us, and let us proceed with alacrity."
Tendal tugs his jacket straight, brushes a bit of dust off a pocket, straightens the lace at his sleeves and then proceeds up the road.
Braddon is happy to lead the others up the road.
"I showed him that I was working for the General in Riddleport," he calls proudly to the others of the archer.
"He won't send his friends after us... only his enemies."
The archer sneers at Gristav's offered gold. "Keep your coin," he scoffs. "You have the gall to rob me of my purse and toss me back a pittance? I can live without your charity."
Looking to Gristav, "Chain him up and let's go, bub. Unless you just want to stay here and... 'talk'," he looks over at the not-so-happy archer before turning his vision back to Gristav. "Up to you. As far as I'm concerned though, the longer will waste time here the closer to dead we'll be." The tall man then turns and follows the others.
"Oh, can you?", Gristav asks, a rhetorical rasp.
"Put the shackles on, or I'll bludgeon you unconscious and leave you, to the mercy of whoever finds you next, in this town. That is, if the small one doesn't fletch your brow, beforetime. Which would really incense me, as I marvel at the moment when you'll realize, you still have your purse. You've lost only your bow, which you turned to deadly service of a man you knew a scoundrel, only aside that he paid well. So claim no moral high ground against me, sir, while you stand unharmed in the truce I offered."
"The shackles. I'll count to three."
"One."
"Two."
Phil gives Tendal, Serpe and Braddon a short nod by way of thanks for the support and keeps the archer and Gristav to his back. He begins to walk, but doesn't get out of earshot from Gristav until he's sure that the half-elf has the situation in hand and is underway.
Sulky and snarling, Bran accedes to Gristav's demands, hobbling himself rather painfully with the shackles. As soon as the job is done, the half-elf catches up with his fellow employees of the Gold Goblin.
Pace made and the ebb of the adrenaline giving way to the yet remaining saw edge of pain from his wounds, Phil takes a peek within the Samaritan's satchel to determine if his opportunism has been worth all the trouble...
Gathering up the readily-snatchable spoils, the victors abandon the road and start across the open land toward the north. The going is slow, as the landscape is broken with ditches and mounds and piles of boulders, but that at least means that the party won't be easily spotted when the alarm is raised against them. Within a half an hour, they have cleared the bluffs on the verge of which the Port-Governor's house was perched and feel much safer, as the squalid little port is cut off from sight entirely. They trust to Braddon's sense of direction to guide them to Arrus Gether's farm, keeping in mind the barkeep's caution that it would be near sunset before they arrived.
Upon the walk Phil tenders the satchel's contents to Tendal with a request "Any thought as to what he was willing to risk life to recover?"
Tendal takes the offered satchel and makes an inspection of one of the vials.
Tired from the skirmish and his eyes bleary from the mental fatigue of utilizing so many spells in such a short time, Tendal isn't immediately certain what the vial contains. But he takes the time to inspect one as best as he is able, and observes it through a detection spell for some long moments.
"Hmmm. Let me think on it a moment." he says, handing the satchel back to Phillip. "If I can't figure out what it is in a few moments, I will inspect the remainder in finer detail when we reach our next destination. he promises.
My, isn't this odd. Tendal thinks a few moments later.
"I believe that I have discerned what the vials are," he announces, breaking the silent march of the group a few minutes later. "The blue green residue around the edge of the stopper I recognized as extract of avillus aquillae and the faintest hint of Transmutational magic makes it highly likely that these are elixirs of swimming."
"The odd part is that they aren't terribly hard to make, so to have a collection of them in one place indicates that they were intended for some purpose." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I imagine that they were likely to be used for some smugglers purpose, swimming underwater, swimming some distance, perhaps moving through rough water?"
"I knew a shipwright in Magnimar that would utilize elixirs as part of his work." he continued, rambling. "The draught would allow him enough maneuverability in the water so he could dive under ships and inspect them while still afloat, rather than taking the time and expense of pulling them into a dry dock or up on shore to be worked on."
Braddon packs away his new manacles and waves the bow about a bit.
"He was right. It is a pretty good bow. Can I keep it? Anyone need a crossbow?"
Slightly discouraged by Tendal's explanation the halfling nevertheless grudgingly accepts it as a win "Well... if we're in the need of making time through water we'll be in luck then." casting a passing thought to one particular vessel.
To Braddon, Phil shrugs "A mite large for my tastes unfortunately."
"I believe ...these are elixirs of swimming.""...intended for some purpose..."
"I knew a shipwright in Magnimar..."
"Then we'll likely see him again. Not your shipwright, Phillip's donor. In the orbit of Ishana, or that vessel, as they continue to hunt the Cloud and her speed.
Which explains why a man might risk his life not to lose - if his life were known at risk already, with the loss.
Which also means, he'll either run swift to his report and punishment - pointing to us, of course - or run far from the duty he had as a courier, and trust to his luck, which, demonstrably, was inferior."
Braddon packs away his new manacles and waves the bow about a bit.
"He was right. It is a pretty good bow. Can I keep it? Anyone need a crossbow?"
"A stiffer draw than typical. A fine weapon. Definitely, keep it to hand. But perhaps not in hand. In most battles, you're far better as a striker than a sniper. Four of the eight fallen, just now? And all of the dead? Ah, save for Read. Anyway, do keep it to hand. And while I'd not try to claim it from you, I do hope you might lend it. I was an archer before a stavesman, before a mage, or a man, or... well, before anything else, if I'm to believe the old Gypsy woman..."
"That cutlass, also, is a worthy weapon. My eye is rarely perfect, but I've learned to see value. Perhaps with the charts found before, as a package? Should we need the favor of a nautical..."
Braddon packs away his new manacles and waves the bow about a bit.
"He was right. It is a pretty good bow. Can I keep it? Anyone need a crossbow?"
Seeing how he has no weapon of range, "I'll take it."
It's a long day on foot over uneven land, and more than once the party considers ruefully that someone should have thought to pack a lunch before leaving town. On the bright side, however, there are no signs of pursuit. By the time the sun is nearing the horizon and its raking rays are making glancing westward painful to the eye, a lopsided hummock of ill-kept barn has come in sight, alongside a half-hearted field of grain and a small farmhouse. This must be Arrus Gether's place.
someone should have thought to pack a lunch
"Dried sausages, gentlemen? Grind a mouthful with water, and enjoy the salt. There's hardtack to follow, serves to clear the teeth, avoid a sort of, carnivorous... cloud. A bit of bitter cheese, if you like, ought go before the bread..."
"Shall we bundle our boodle before braying, rather than stand with our overfull arms and noteworthy need?" Assuming ascent, Gristav will ask Braddon's help in caching the large pile of swag from the recent battle, before rousing the farmstead.
"Shall I? Any who'd have stealth, make your way to it..." Waiting a moment to be shushed or pre-empted, Gristav begins walking, and calls out:
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Tendal looks at Gristav with brief flash of unalloyed misery.
Enough shouting Gristav! I feel crosseyed now...and my blisters have blisters. he thinks as he minces along the trail.
"I certainly hope that your boisterous pronouncement of our arrival does not have the household simply set the hounds upon us." Tendal says, a bit of weariness seeping into his voice.
"Any hounds, ought have howled a-fore. A-three, even. And, better to wake an infant, than creak a porch-board, and sprout a flock of fletchings. We've no need of subterfuge: I've a wounded man, slower than most when he's fresh, and too prideful to be slung on a blanket, between bows, even if we'd all gladly do it. Even you, have slowed a measure. Let's hope for a cart, or would you be needing a surrey?", Gristav asks of the wizard, grinning gregariously.
Nethys, please! A spell of blessed silence on Gristav, or merely on myself...I would be thankful for that... he fervently prays, Gristav's circumlocutions causing a pounding twang to spring up between his eyes.
Tendal shakes his head at Gristav then rubs at the bridge of his nose.
"You sir, are a sight too sprightly for me at this moment." he says. "And yes, of course I wouldn't mind a wagon or other conveyance. A horse would be most excellent." he finishes attempting to keep a normal tone.
And with that, I will hold my tounge. Better to not be nettlesome. We have a ways to go before we are back in Riddleport.
Phillip refrains from engaging with the convivial Gristav or the cantankerous Tendal, instead keeping to himself upon the trudge. The sharpness of his hurts fades to a more dull aching sensation, and a degree of melancholy settles amidships to clothe his thought processes. Once at the farm he keeps to the tail of the company, watching and waiting.
Even Braddon seems somewhat subdued after the day's journey. He hands over his masterwork light crossbow and 10 bolts to Snake with hardly any explanation of why it's always loaded. He accepts Gristav's offerings and washes them down with his final potion of cure light wounds.
Braddon does perk up once the farmhouse is in sight. He stands at Gristav's shoulder and a step back, one hand resting lightly on his bastard sword.
Snake takes the weapon and places it within his pack. "Thanks." He then notices how the majority of the ranger's wounds heal up after drinking the contents of the vial he holds. Turning to the others, "Anybody else hurt? I can fix you up. Can't fix you up a lot but I can fix you up."
Tendal shakes his head at Gristav then rubs at the bridge of his nose."You sir, are a sight too sprightly for me at this moment." he says. "And yes, of course I wouldn't mind a wagon or other conveyance. A horse would be most excellent." he finishes attempting to keep a normal tone.
"Sprightly, indeed.", Gristav managed the mercy of benevolent brevity, eschewing the elaboration, that he was in full fae flight, from a murderer's, and murderous, moroseness. That a man who would walk the world - and had, some - had only learnt the habit of whistling, woelessly, willfully, and walking on.
"Snake?", the magus called softly, in deference to the noble's headache. "Please."
Snake moves next to Gristav and lays a hand upon his shoulder, bringing forth his meager bit of healing magic.
Gristav's hail elicits a response from the house: a rattle of the shutter as the business end of a loaded crossbow emerges, followed by a hoarse shout. "Who's there? Stand where you're at, and state your business!"
Launching in first before Gristav has a chance to wax "Travellers, looking to rent your horses and carriage."
Launching in first before Gristav has a chance to wax "Travellers, looking to rent your horses and carriage."
For a brief moment, Tendal considered hugging the halfling.
Nethys, while not as spectacular, I will accept Mr. Hargreaves interruption of Gristav as divine influence...and thank you. First chance I get, I will be making an offering at your altar. Tenal silently prays.
The man behind the shutter grunts, and the crossbow visibly relaxes, its tip now pointing high enough to overshoot even Snake's tall hat, though it does not yet disappear. "From the Cove, then, are you? Five to travel? What's your destination?"
Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Good one, Raccoon. You just saved our necks.
Not confirming the man's inference of where they're from, Phillip instead focuses upon where they're bent "Aye five... for Riddleport. What's the price and when might we get the Cove to our backs?"
As the man speaks Phil measures the price against his internal reckonings of value...
"Thirty gold," the voice snaps back, "leaving in the morning. It's a two-day trip."
"Well now... that won't work." letting the words hang for a moment to allow the man's internal processes to process before continuance "We'll take it for fifty, with supper, room and board for the night. I trust that will be fit for it's purpose?"
After a startled moment, the crossbow is hastily pulled in from the window. "Absolutely! Welcome, gentlemen! Gertrue! Get some supper on the stove, woman! We have guests!" The farmhouse door opens, and a rather grungy-looking man with lank gray hair and a modest paunch appears in it, waving the visitors in with an ingratiating smile.
Phil lets some of the tension relax out of him... but keeps a healthy portion in reserve. As he moves forward he adds "Seems accommodating enough..." as his eyes rove towards how defensible they might make the residence were interested parties to arrive.
"Ooh, supper!"
Braddon's face breaks into a smile and he makes his way through the door.
Walking forward, Tendal unconsciously shifts his jacket and straightens the lace of his sleeves, picking at them with weary fingers. "Good evening good sir," Tendal says, with distinctly less of his usual bright bluster, as he approaches the paunchy man in the doorway, "Thank you and your lady for the blessings of your hearth this evening."
"While joining you for supper sounds excellent, if you could first direct me to a chair I would be eternally grateful." he says, passing by the man and pausing in the doorway to allow his eyes to adjust from the late afternoon light to that inside the home.
The farmhouse is untidy, all its surfaces, inside and out, in need of a good coat of paint, or at least a dust mop. The farmer, presumably Arrus Gether, hurries to dump some rags and pieces of old equipment off of the seat of a chair for Tendal. A long table is clearly only regularly used at one place setting, as the rest of the surface is piled with empty bottles, broken equipment, half-filled seed bags, and a few scraggly plants getting a supervised start in a set of clay pots which have left muddy rings on the wood. A wary-looking woman, her jaw set as tight as a bear trap, examines the newcomers unabashedly as she chops some root vegetables for addition to a pot, her hair tied up in a kerchief.
"Can I offer you gentlemen some parsnip wine?" Gether asks ingratiatingly.