"Ah, yes. We've briefly met." Connacht says to Aedia as he's formally introduced to her. "Hopefully what he told you was flattering enough."
Connacht is relieved to see that Trenzi warms to his request rather quickly, especially considering how delicate of a matter it was. As he hands the letter to the bureaucrat, he says, "Sevra spoke quite highly of you after you left- for all the right reasons, to be sure. Whatever else our esteemed guest is, he's a good judge of character. Assuming I come back from this escapade, I hope we'll be able to work together to improve the lot of Wheldrake. This is merely the first leg of that journey."
At Aedia's remark, Connacht eyebrow twitches for a moment as he looks over towards the young woman. She had already seen him pray in the plaza earlier that very day, and her reaction had been... odd.
He hadn't been intending to pray here - but now that the thought was there, it honestly sounded prudent. "Yes, as a matter of fact." The imperial agent says honestly enough. A slightly awkward pause fills the air after his reply as he thinks for a way to transition from the unusual question. "I'm actually going to take care of that now, unless either of you have any business with me?"
Connacht gazes at the rather attractive young woman frankly, doing his best to peel back the mask that everyone wears to the outside world. The druid does not find out much but he can tell the plaza is very near and dear to her heart. She notices his gaze and raises an eyebrow at his look, not amused but not dismissive either. Intrigued?
Trenzi shakes his head but does add, "I caution you against angering Serva Rallus. He is not a man to be trifled with." A pause then, "I hope your raid goes successfully, Master Agent. Good luck."
Aedia though says, "I have business of my own in the plaza. May I walk with you?"
Soon the three of them, Connacht, Derwyn and Aedia are crossing the sunbaked ground toward the praying plaza, passing by the slowly dissipating crowds of on-lookers. A few make eye contact with Connacht, revealing expressions of everything from anxiety to fear to eagerness. At the very least Connacht's arrival has shaken up the sleepy little town.
Aedia's stride is firm and quick, practical shoes under her simple work dress. She glances his way as they walk and says, "You think I am strange, to involve the gods in our affairs? Is that not the way things are done in the wider world?"
"He made that plain enough." Connacht tells the Prefect. "I'll be careful though. Thank you."
Connacht nods at Aedia's question. "Sure. Of course."
Connacht does his best to keep a positive and mildly aloof disposition up for the sake of the onlookers. He was an Imperial Agent of the Crown of Taldor, after all, and there were appearances to upkeep, and it wouldn't do to appear nervous before the raid. All it would take is a few rumors to sap morale. "It's not strange at all- just more uncommon than it ought to be." Connacht responds to the young woman's question. "Worship of the Gods is proper for all of us mortals. We all ought to keep in mind that we do not live to serve ourselves."
He keeps up with her pace without much effort, even if he tends to walk just a bit more slowly when not in a hurry. "Alas, however, that the gods are often not honored sufficiently by so many. That, or they honor enties unworthy of worship."
As the two of them continue walking, he pries a bit and ask, "Are you in charge of maintaining the shrines there? If you know about the shrine, I'd be honored if you explained to me who they're all for sometime in the future. I try to stay informed about these things and have met many travelers from distant lands, but I didn't recognize several of them." There's a genuine curiosity in his voice as he asks- it wasn't just idle small talk for him. Religion was something lived for the man, not merely a topic for idle chatter.
The woman frowns when Connacht mentions 'entities unworthy or worship', her face going cold yet certain like someone who just got unpleasant but expected news. "Ah, I see." Is all she says at first, boots loud on the hardpan ground.
When Connacht ventures more conversation she wavers for a second, almost as if she isn't going to answer the druid's question. A long silence fills the space between them, only filled by Derwyn's usual panting.
Then, without warning she says, "My brother dreams of a Wheldrake that once was, at least according to the stories handed down from generation to generation like treasured weapons. A rich town, full of tradition, honor and prestige. A quiet town perhaps, but filled with the gentle tide of commerce and the steady thrum of...repute." She pauses, looking at the small, desiccated town and goes on, "I dream of a Wheldrake that maybe never was. A place of mixture, a blending of ideas and people from many lands. Where ideas are exchanged and explored not dismissed and people talk of philosophy and reason instead of spring planting or camel dung." Her bright eyes, the color of rich earth, sparkle a moment, as if reflecting the excitement of her words.
Then Aedia shrugs, "But alas, not all dreams come true. Indeed, few. But I have a glimpse of what it could be, of what I could have had. I have this plaza of prayer. A collection of minds and hearts, frozen in place through acts of the soul. I was not given this duty, at least not by any man, but I have taken it as my task to study, to preserve and protect the holy place."
Her mouth twists, "Unworthy entities or no." She stops so suddenly Connacht nearly trips to maintain eye contact, boots scuffling on hard earth. :What do you say of that, Imperial Agent Connacht of Yanmiss?"
Connacht listens patiently enough as the young woman embarks on her... monologue, to describe it charitably. Tirade would be too harsh. There was a certain arrogance to the young woman that the Imperial Agent found off-putting.
As he almost trips over himself in responding to stop walking as Aedia does, he recovers before going on to respond, "Well first you have my thanks." He says in a tone that implies he did not only have thanks to give to the burgeoning theologian, "When I first arrived here after weeks of travel by foot, it was a great relief to be able to give my thanks to Erastil at a proper shrine. You've got my gratitude for it's preservation. Your mission is, on the whole, a noble one." Whatever else he might have to say, the druid's gratitude is genuine.
But of course, the Imperial agent did have more to say as his tone shifts from praise to criticism. "Beyond that- you'd be wise to keep in mind that it's those talk of spring planting and camel dung that ensure you stay fed. Those who tend to such earthly matters are doing needed work that allows you to spend days preserving the shrines, me to serve the Crown, your brother to maintain the caravanserai. Their task might be lesser than ours, but it's still honest labor, and you shouldn't scorn it- even if only because its hard to philosophize on an empty stomach." If she was such a student of the various philosophies of the faiths of Golarion, his rebuke could hardly come as a surprise from an Erastilian.
After his critique, Connacht continues walking towards the shrine, albeit at a far more leisurely pace than the woman had taken previously. "Talk of reason only goes so far, as important as it is. Faith needs to be lived. It comes with demands for action, for commitments to be met. Even for sacrifice. To truly understand a faith, it can't just be talked about, it needs to be experienced, and that's not just something done at a shrine or in a temple. And as a simple matter of fact, not all faiths should be allowed to carry out their practices or to spread their teachings. Surely it is the height of folly to treat the practices and thought of Lamashtites as equal to those of Iomedaens? Let a few have a firm grasp on the Mother of Monster's faith to better fight against it, fine, but such a knowledge should belong to a select group of people, not to everyone." The use of a different deity than Erastil here was meant to indicate an openness to a certain sort of pluralism of thought- but he figured it would be best to let her respond before continuing on.
Aedia accepts his thanks with a simple nod of the head. Whatever else she is, she doesn't appear to be very vain or imperious about her self-assigned duty as 'protector of the faiths of Wheldrake' or whatever she styled it to herself. That gave Connacht a bit of hope about the entire affair but still, when had argument convinced anyone about religion?
Still, she seems to listen closely as he speaks, indeed almost hungry for the words. "I do not scorn the activities themselves or those that devote themselves to such simple pursuits. I do scorn those that never look beyond them, that never pause and ponder the stars."
She shrugs, "As for sacrifice, what is more valuable then time? Time spent thinking, worshiping, attempting to understand? What could be more holy then this?"
Aedia frowns at his last line, but there is an eagerness in his words, like someone finding a gourd of water after a long day of travel. The simple joy of discovery at something unexpected but desired.
"Would not a Lamashite say the same of you? What places your faith above another? Simply because you happen to believe it?" She holds up a hand, "I understand many faiths are strange and may even be undesirable for any community but to dismiss them out of hand? To consider them pure evil on principle, not even worthy of inclusion as part of out heritage? I disagree, Imperial Agent." A pause then, "You would remove the faiths you find unappealing from the plaza? Even after admitting you know nothing of some of them? What if a shrine you found moving and beautiful turned out to be in honor of an goddess that you found reprehensible? Would you wish to tear it down, even if it had stood for three hundred years and was the work of dozens of the devoted, a simple act of worship in a dangerous uncaring world?"
[oob] We don't need to debate this for dozens of posts, up to you. [/ooc]
"Time spent in service."Comes the reply to her first point, "We do not merely give honor to the Gods while we kneel before alters and in the pursuit of knowledge. We can honor all the Gods that matter in all that we do, by fulfilling the duties that we have as a result of our birth and developing our characters on a daily basis. Flourishing as a humanoid creature requires more than just study. Everything has it's proper season." It was true enough that prayer and contemplation could be pious, but there could be a risk of overemphasizing the importance of a contemplative life. It wasn't an theological error he often encountered.
The next argument struck Connacht as bizarre. "Of course not because I believe it's wrong- it's not as if I'm the one who determines what faiths are just or not." How arrogant would one have to be to behave as such?
Connacht considers the argument for a frew more moments before continuing to respond, "You don't have to finish an entire book to make a reasonable judgement on it, or listen to an entire liar's fabrication to tell if he's lying. Trust me on that last point." He was certainly an authority on that last point, if nothing else. "I might know everything about the faith of Asmodeus, for example- but I know enough to know throwing one's soul into the hands of devils is folly. Humanoids weren't made to expand the legions of Hell, whatever the Asmodeans would tell you."
"Truth be told- the more beautiful I found a statue to a reprehensible power, the more I'd want to tear it down. Beauty used to lead people astray is another form of blasphemy. If shuch a faith were realy such a part of the traditions of Taldor... well then. That would require some dramatic measures." There's an incredibly uncomfortable silence as Connacht puts together the meaning of his own words. "If Taldor was built on rotten foundation, it would need to be torn down."
Gods, that wouldn't do at all. "Fortunately, the Empire was not founded in service of Lamashtu." Connacht thinks for a few more moments before shaking his head "Actually, no. There might be some reason for leaving it up, in some form or another. If such a terrible thing was really part of the traditions of my community, it could serve as a painful reminder to not commit the same follies as our ancestors. To do better than the broken legacy they shamefully gave to descendants, and to spend our own lives atoning for their injustices. Some debts are so terrible that they can only be payed off over generations."
Aedia accepts most of this is silence, boots softly crunching on the crusted hard-pan of the town's earth, leaving barely any footprints behind them. They come to the edge of the simple plaza before she speaks, her eyes sweeping the space as if looking for strength.
Slowly she says, meeting Connacht's eyes with her own bright ones, "I will only say this, Connacht, Imperial Agent. There are many, probably millions who believe the same but in reverse. You seem very sure...but so would they, in turn."
She waves a hand at the holy space, "I merely seek to preserve what makes Wheldrake special, or at least what I judge that to be. That is all, nothing more and nothing less. I just wished to make that clear, hopefully so you understand me in the future."
The young woman nods then, indicating the shrine to Erastil. "Go forth and ask your god for his blessing." A pause and then, voice softer, "Thank you for helping us against the bandits. It is a very brave thing to do, whatever your reasons."
"I know that better than most." Connacht tells Aedia as she makes her claim about millions. He knew first hand just how forceful could be over questions of religion, after all. As she goes on to explain her purpose, all he does is nod his head. She'd made it clear enough at this point.
With their discussion seemingly over, Connacht decides to try and end on as peaceful a note as he can. "You're welcome. I'll be praying that the loss of life is kept to a minimum. The sooner this is over, the better it'll be for all of us. By your leave."
With the debate at an end, Connacht makes his way over to the shrine to pray- not to mention calm his nerves and attempt to clear his mind about what was inevitably going to come.
It isn't easy to pray with Aeida watching over him like a mother hen, pacing through the other shrines, dusting off a bit of grit or grime. Whatever her motives, she is conscientious and through in her duty to the town. A worthy trait to the Erastil worshiping druid.
He puts the young woman out of his mind and concentrates on the divine. It is not his first time asking for help before violence, and there is a rote pattern. A comfort washes over him, as he ponders the path ahead, the chances of battle, the doing of deeds, the possibility of injury. None of it new, but no less dangerous because of familiarity.
Soon he rises, ready for his duty.
That duty comes quickly. The sun is starting to glow red in the west as Connacht makes his way to the Sabinus Manor. There, laid out under the darkening green leaves are men and woman, gathered in informal groups. Most he does not know, having the look of laborers or farmers. he does however spot Viorec leaning in the dark bole of a tree, nearly vanishing in the growing shadows. He also spots Lin, nervously laughing at some joke from a circle of the caravan guards.
Standing on the steps, looming over them, stands Lady Sabnius, dressed in full armor and a sword belted at her waist. The setting sun catches her hair and it glows like fire, a burnished banner to follow. Behind, and literally in her shadow, Alexius stands, looking disdainfully at the assembled force.
The Lady spots Connacht and beckons him forward.
Connacht does his level best to suppress any hint of nervousness. This was shaping up to be the largest operation he had ever commanded, after all.
Well. That wasn't exactly true. As the sight of Lady Sabinus reminded him, he wasn't exactly in command here. He had no doubts in her ability to lead this battle, but had she ever lead such an excursion before? Not to mention there was no telling how fit or unfit her own men were for any such an excursion.
And of course, there was Vioric. He'd have to keep an eye on that one.
At any rate, he heeds the commander's orders and approaches the noblewoman, "My Lord, I see you've mustered your troops." Connacht says as he reaches her, snapping off a salute to the leader of their little escapade. He expected she would have more to say, so beyond that remarks he allows her to address him first.
The Lady Sabinus surveys the troops and allows a look of disdain creep over her polite, formal mask. "Troops?" She says quietly, so only Connacht (and Alexius) can hear. "You mean a rabble of peasants and caravans guards, few enough to fit in a few wagons? Barely armed and none armored." She looks out over the assembled men and women, then snorts.
A far away look enters her eyes as she glances past them, toward the horizon blocked by rocky hills. The imposing woman seems to swell slightly, standing up straighter, infused with some powerful vision. "What I wouldn't give for a company of Imperial troops, like the days of old. Glittering swords, burnished shields, all in the hands of fell soldiers and warriors. Nay, even a mere troop would be enough to fill me with pride, a force to be reckoned with. We could carve a new empire out of these blasted hills!" Dancing on the edge of sight Connacht can see marching troops, conquered bandits and brigands, civilization spreading to new valleys and dells, bridges built, mills constructed, land brought under Imperial law and order. A bright future, a worthy future.
Then she comes back to herself, shrinks and the illusion fades saying "But no. This is our lot." She looks down directly at Connacht and says, grudgingly, "At least we have you, a representative of the Crown itself. Perhaps times are changing?" A short pause and then she waves Connacht up, "Would you like to address our so-called troops?"
The vision of Sabinus even with a single professional soldier unnerves him. The best he could tell in the small time he'd known the noblewoman, she was not a tyrant who abused her people. Alexius had the makings of one, of course, but his mother seemed to be of a more controlled disposition. How much of that is merely due to a lack of means? What enemies would your nonexistent army seek to vanquish?
He hoped he would never find out. Turning to the practical, he addresses her later questions. "It's certainly possible. Beyond that- maybe we could make some use of the Vale- it's the most lush and green piece of land I've seen since landing in Yanmass. When the bandits are gone, maybe we can put it too good use?"
"In any case, yes I'll address the men. Just not quite yet. I'm going to bring the leader of the mercenaries into the loop as to what our plans are first. By your leave."
After taking his leave of the aristocrats, Connacht makes his way over to the older mercenary. "Sesser. A word in private?"
The Lady Sabinus nods, "Of course, but do not tarry. We have many miles to march tonight and any delay might let the village spy inform the bandits. The last thing we want is to find the valley held against us in force."
After finding Sesser the man nods easily enough, "Of course." They walk away from the gathered men, most of whom are staring at them, obviously confused and worried about what is expected of them and battle. Even the most experienced of them, the caravan guards are unused to pitched and planned fights. Only Sesser seems at ease and comfortable.
"What do you need, Connacht?" The wiry and sun-baked man says to COnnacht, voice low. "It goes well with the Lady?"
Connacht takes the older man out of earshot"Better than expected, worse than could be hoped for." Connacht answers the question frankly with a tinge of regret in his voice. Appearances of confidence needed to be kept around the rank and file, but he wasn't one for excessive posturing in trusted company. Sesser was decent folk from what he could tell, certainly by mercenary standards.
"Ever been involved in something like this before?" He asks before moving onto the more pressing concerns. "Lady Sabinus is the one in charge of the operation, so orders will be coming from her. The plan is to storm their little village in the Vale after sunset- we can't afford a siege. Even if we could, given how fertile that Valley is we might not even be able to starve them out."
Connacht considers his words carefully before moving on. "You willing to join me and Sabinus in the Vanguard leading the assault? And for that matter, are you up for having most of your men towards the front of our militia as we enter the Valley?"
"I know what I'm asking. But look at them." Connacht gestures to the assembled peasant militia of Wheldrakians. "They barely even know which end of the sword to hold and are armored in rags and cloth. I know we're likely to have some fall tonight but I'm trying to keep all our casualties to a minimum. Your folks at least know what to do in a fight and aren't going to panic when someone draws a blade in anger at them. If the front of our spearhead into the Valley collapses, that'll just botch everything straight to Hells for all of us."
Besides, if you don't do it willingly, Sabinus might just order you to do it anyways. The imperial agent wanted to avoid that out of respect for Sesser, but the priority was keeping the body count down.
He did not look forward to telling mothers that their sons were dead tomorrow morning.
Regardless of his response to the proposition, Connacht has one more morbid piece of business to attend to. "Well, one last thing. Hate to ask, but if something happens to you, who's second in command of your family that'll be with us tonight? " He recalls that Sesser referred to the rest of his company as family. The man might be a wanderer, but from what he could tell the rest of his company was a family of sorts, and the druid respected the man for that.
Erastil let this night end swiftly.
Sesser eyes Connacht, leathery face revealing little but Connacht can see the wrinkles around the eyes tightening, the eyes narrowing. For a moment the bald man says nothing, simply gazing out over the small assembled force, face bland.
Slowly the weathered man says, "You ask me to offer my family as arrow fodder? That is not a metaphor Connacht, those others are my flesh, my marriage and blood. You want me to sacrifice them in order to save other lives, lives of people I do not even know?"
The man takes a breath, voice still even and calm but a weight of emotion behind it, "Fighting means killing and killing means dying, aye I understand. You are a good man and the bandits are trouble, no argument from me. I said the same to Serva. But to ask me to put myself and my family first and then to ask who will take my place if I fall?" A pause, "You are a cold one, Connacht. Cold blood makes a good leader but a bad friend."
A hot breeze flutters past, a Parthian shot from the now setting sun. Around them dusk is slowly falling, tree cast shadows merging with the general twilight. the sky overhead is a bright red, that reminds Connacht too much of blood.
"But I will do as you ask. Too much blood will be split as it is. But ask no more." Then the man points to a solid looking woman, with broad shoulders and scarred face, "Jasni. My wife. If I die, it will fall to her, both my position in the caravan and my family."
Without waiting for anything else Sesser walks away, leaving Connacht alone, with many eyes on him.
The imperial agent feels Sesser’s words like a dagger to the chest, and it shows. He had no intention of playing any emotional games with Sesser like he had with the mercenary’s employer- after all, he actually had respect for the older weathered man. A faint look of relief passes over his face as Sesser agrees to his request- it was for the best after all. But destroying any potential friendship with the man was a personal blow that Connacht rued.
Sabinus says I’m too merciful, Sesser says I’m too cold. Where does that leave me in truth? Hells if Connacht knew the answer to that. He wished there was someone he could truly lean upon for advice and council, but as it was he was alone for now. Erastil, keep this family of wanderers in your care, shield their father and mother from unbearable grief, and let sibling need not bury sibling. They were Desnans (or at least Sesser was) from what he saw at the shrine, but he hopes that Old Deadeye would show mercy to this most abnormally ethical band of mercenaries. Finishing his prayer, he makes a holy gesture in the direction of the mercenaries, not caring one wit about the onlookers .
He tries not to think about how the shadows cast over Sesser look like wounds in the light of the red setting sun. An abyss of an omen before a battle, for us and the outlaws... Shaking his head, he makes his way back to where the Lord was waiting for him.
”I explained everything. Sesser’s troops will be in the front of our assault- just after us, of course. Better trained men serve as the vanguard than our peasant militia. ” Connacht says as he makes his way back to the noblewoman. ”The young healer I brought along should stay in the rear, with one of your men as a guard. Lothar or Carlo would work fine, they served me well on the scouting expedition.”
”Shall we depart, my Lord? We have no further reason to tarry.”
The Lady Sabinus listens to Connacht's tactical reasoning carefully and spares a glance at the clustered caravan guards, Sesser talking quietly to them. Her eyes glint in the twilight but the druid can't tell how much she guesses.
"An interesting idea, Agent." She finally says, "Although I may have perhaps thought the reverse. Keep our best and most steadfast troops as a reserve in fact the defense is too formidable to take in a sudden rush. The first wave always suffers worst in any assault, I wonder if losing our most trained troops in that onrush is wise. But I also see your wisdom. Why have better troops if you do not use them where battle is hottest?"
She raises an eyebrow when Connacht carefully avoids addressing the men. "Very well." She coughs loudly, waves a hand slightly and speaks in a louder tone. All voices instantly hush as the noblewoman, clad in armor begins to speak in a stern, clear voice.
"We go forth to free the land of bandits and troublemakers. These are your homes or your livelihoods we fight for. It may not be easy or pleasant, but it needs to be done. You know, I do not need to explain."
"I, and my son, are in command but Imperial Agent Connacht is taking charge of tactical choices. Look to him for guidance in the heat of battle. His experience and cunning are a gift from the Crown, let us use it wisely."
"Forward, march!" She finishes, dramatically drawing her sword and pointing it toward the darkening dry hills around Wheldrake. The last of the sunlight glints off of it, making it look like a burning brand for a single moment. Then the sun dips and true night begins.
It isn't much of a march, for all the talk however. There is no grand column of men marching in military step, keeping ordered lines and outriders, with officers keeping time and order. Instead it is a shadowy collection of men (and women) moving furtively in the dark, trying to keep as quiet as they can.
The rough terrain works against them, and the gravel-strewn slopes are tricky enough to navigate in broad daylight, let alone by a waning crescent moon. A few times they either clump too close, tripping over each other, or spread out and get disconnected int he dark. Still, most know the landscape well and they are able to move without major problems or mishaps. Viorec, for one, seems quite at home in the murky shadows of the dark hills, moving with ease and stealth that makes Connacht more then a little nervous.
To Connacht's initial surprise, the Lady Sabinus brings up the rear, her son at her side. Then he realizes why. Anyone falling behind is soon met with her blazing eyes, sharp tongue as, a few times, the flat of her sword. The woman sets a demanding pace but no one falls behind or 'gets lost' after having second thoughts.
Together they wind up in the dark hills, vaguely following the path Connacht scouted out earlier that day. The stars flicker into view, a vast canopy of sparkling, dazzling lights wreathing the moon. It is a sight to engender awe and wonder, even among those (or perhaps especially among those) headed for battle. Connacht hears more then a few whispered or muttered prayers from hushed lips as they pace among the stones.
The rocky scrub is quiet, and they only scare out a few small game animals as they 'march'. Small rabbits, a few fox, and once a large burrowing owl dart from the cactus and dry brush. Connacht detects no signs of scouts or any other travelers in the area and this gives him hope that perhaps, they make catch the bandits off guard.
Soon they reach the same rocky defile where he pauses with Lothar, Sesser and Carlo around noon. The last natural break before the green valley, which is now out of sight. As he slows, the whole group comes to a general halt as the Lady Sabinus makes her way to the front, marching with a firm stride that belays the hours of walking in the dark over rough terrain.
"Agent, have we arrived?" She says curtly, nodding formally, "Any last orders before we order the general assault?" The woman pauses and says, "Dare we risk a scout?"
Connacht nods his head when the noblewoman finally approaches something near his own reasoning. Not to mention we don't have the luxury of being wasteful with our own men.
Connacht wipes the expressions of doubt and uncertainty from his mind, standing ready and listening to Sabinus's speech. Smart of her. Should we fail I'll likely be run out of town. And that's if she's feeling merciful.
It would be best not to fail.
There were times when Connacht envied the more militant faiths. To followers of the Inheritor, this sort of thing was sacred. Even membership among a community with baser practicies would be some comfort now. The Parables of Erastil had stories of war, of farmers being called up to serve in the armies of their lords, even of rambunctious youths who set out in search of justice needing to be done. All of them cautionary, nearly all ending tragically.
The imperial agent had no love of bloodshed, no love of adventure, and now he found-himself leading a militia across a wasteland at night, far from hearth and home, far from family and friends. All for the sake of a Crown he had never seen.
He felt... bitter. It was unsettling.
Give me the temperance to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change what I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." A small prayer of his own is sent up to Erastil and whatever other gods of Heaven that might be listening, adding to the murmurs from the peasants he leads through the night. Keep those under my command safe, and let them see the light of tomorrow's dawn.
Still, there were worst places to perish than under a sky as beautiful as the one tonight. Better than under the red sun.
For his part, Derwyn keeps pace beside him, occasionally glancing up at his master. Of the two, the wolf had the better state of mind.
As they finally approach Outlaw Vale, Connacht signals for everyone to wait while out of site of the entrance to the valley, as they did last time. "Aye. We're here."
Connacht is ill at ease. It had all gone...too easily so far. The men and women of the small force shivered in the dark, the dry air growing quite cold now that the sun is gone. Some huddled near the rocky walls of the narrow defile, happy for the radiating heat the stones had soaked up during the hot desert day.
The druid looks around for any danger or signs of change since he last visited. The last thing he needed was a trap or an ambush to stampede this entire group and turn into a hurtling mass of panic. The agent finds no traps or creatures but he does find that small branching path, leading to the small spring.
On the ground, below the old Erastil trail sign, in the gravel-like dust Connacht finds a fresh footprint leading up toward the water, out of sight of the main trail.
Connacht looks down at the footprint and frowns deeply. What was anyone else doing out here now of all times?
Sabinus would have to be informed. "There's someone else out here." He tells her in a whispered voice. "Off to the side. It's best not to leave a loose end behind us- I'll take one of your men and see if anything is amiss."
Connacht examines the footprint. It seems very fresh, probably someone pacing their little column. Looks like a well worn human boot, quite a large size. Bigger then Connacht's feet anyway. There are no other tracks.
The Lady Sabinus's nostril flare, "A bandit scout? Or perhaps their mysterious informant, running ahead of us?" The formidable woman turns slightly, staring down the defile toward Outlaw Valley, face a mask. "I am tempted to order the assault now, Imperial Agent, and outrun their mischief. Should we waste time tracking down their illicit tryst and split our force? I do not care for waiting in the dark. Nerves may not hold for long."
Connacht's brow furrows at the notion of ignoring the tracks. Leaving a potential enemy in the rear could end disastrously. But Sabinus raised important points too- his own morale was on uneven ground, and if that was the case he shuddered to imagine how the peasants were doing.
All that considered, Connacht shakes his head. "You're right. We don't have time to check whatever it is. I'll scout ahead- I can check to see if anyone's guarding the front of the valley without them being able to notice me if they have a lookout. If we walk out there in the open now a look out might spot us and we'll loose everything. I won't be more than 6 minutes."
After gesturing for his wolf to sit and wait, Connacht casts two spells in succession- one to give him a slight increase in control over his footsteps and the other to sense the presence of magic in the area. With luck that would be as moot an issue as it was before, but with all the strange happenings he couldn't be too cautious
Now on the clock, Connacht heads out into the open, moving through the desert under the cover of darkness and anything he can put between himself and the entrance of the valley. The agent's nerves feel as if they're on fire- he was never the quietest man or the best sleuth in the city guard- but at least for now he was getting by. At least, he didn't think anything had seen him yet.
As Connacht reaches the rim of the valley, he looks inside to see whatever he can, taking especial notice of any signs of guards or the bandits.
Connacht sneaks forward, leaving Derwyn behind. The druid is careful and experienced but the bare rock and loose gravel give him few options to hide. Behind him the small force shivers in the dark, totally hidden by the rocky walls of the small valley.
He edges forward, nerves worn to fraying. The last few days had been hectic, all building up to this. The fight on the road, the murder of the captured bandit, the strange fortune telling with Viorec, haggling with Serva, even trying to handle Sabinus, all of it had led to this final sneaking approach. He wouldn't fail....would he?
Lost in his thoughts, Connacht nearly tripped on the corpse.
There, just at the crest of the trail, a woman had been sitting. Peering down at the body in the gloom, it is clear it was a bandit, dressed in dirty, muddy clothes. A dull axe is nearby, still leaning against the low rock that she had obviously been sitting on. A long arrow is lodged in her neck, flecked with red feathers.
Connacht bites his tongue as he all but literally stumbles over the bandit corpse. As more then one colorful descriptions of his circumstance fill his mind, the Imperial agent tries to think of who could have come out here and done this?
Maybe some new group moved in and took over? It seemed ludicrously implausible- and the timing for it didn't even make his sense.
More than a little bit agitated, Connacht tries examining the surroundings for any hint of what might have transpired here.
Connacht does his best, in the silent dark of the desert night, to investigate the body.
Connacht first checks the arrow and the flecthing. The design is good, and quite traditional, tightly tied with feathers from a local species of hawk. The druid also notes only the darker feathers have been used, which is unusual. Usefully archers use brightly colored feathers to make them easier to mark and find. This was an arrow designed for stealth in the dark.
Connacht sees no tracks except some faint ones from the bandit that lead down the main path into the valley. It is possible he missed something, but as far as the druid can tell, whoever killed the woman bandit never walked here.
Lastly he checks the body itself, trying to gauge how long it has lain here. He examines the bloody soil, touches the corpses skin, moves a limb slightly. The body is cold but not stiff, and the blood long crusted. Somewhere less then an hour but more then fifteen minutes, if Connacht had to guess.
Almost like a hunter... Connachtr's mind recalls the acolyte of Sarenrae talking about how his father was an Erastilian- he probably knew how to hunt. Maybe this was his work? The imperial agent could hardly complain about one less bandit to deal with, but it did little to reassure him.
Connacht carefully removes the bloody arrow from the bandit's neck, holding onto it so he'd have something to verify his account of the dead bandit without hauling the corpse all the way back to the militia. Erastil willing, whoever did this either took care of the rest of them for us or has already headed out of here.
With nothing else he can do about the corpse at the moment, Connacht moves on to the ridge of the valley, not quite sure what to expect when he peers over it to try and get a look inside.
Connacht draws the arrow, and notes the point is well made stone, not metal. The flint glitters dimly in the faint moonlight.
Connacht leans over and peers down into the valley. The steep overgrown path, which winds among the small trees, is quiet and dark, with no signs of life that he can see.
Homemade, perhaps? Does Wheldrake even have a metalsmith? With all that's gone on over the last day and a half, such a question had never even entered his mind.
With the coast clear, Connacht makes his way back, putting a bit more emphasis on returning quickly than on remaining hidden. Returning to the militia, he returns to Sabinus. "I found one of them dead with this in her neck just outside of the Valley. She couldn't have been dead for more than an hour. No scouts, no lookouts, nothing moving in the Valley at all from what I could see." As he talks, he presents the bloody arrow to the noblewoman.
"The arrow looks like it was made to avoid being noticeable. Perfect for quiet use at night. Anyone you know of might be behind this?" The question isn't framed as an accusation- but Theodora had lived here her entire life and the druid had been here less than a week. She actually knew the citizens of Wheldrake, after all.
The Lady Sabinus, little more then a dim outline in the desert dark takes the bloody arrow. She inspects it briefly and there is an obvious flare of recognition that the woman doesn't bother to hide. Her hand trembles slightly, although in fear or rage Connacht is unable to tell.
"So it seems we have an ally." She says shortly and then adds, "I do not think this...person need concern us at the moment. Consider them irrelevant to the task at hand, Imperial Agent. However, the dead scout does imply the time to strike is now? Do we order the assault? Will you take the vanguard with the caravan troops and my son?"
Connacht notes Viorec is nearby, probably in listening distance, doing his best to meld with the shadows.
To say that Sabinus's reaction to their new "ally" was less then reassuring to the imperial agent would be an understatement. He wanted to know more. In another situation, he would have asked the woman point blank. But this was Lord Sabinus, and they were surrounded by a nervous militia, and the task before them needed to be ended sooner rather than later.
A few moments of silence pass where Connacht views the woman with some degree of skepticism visible from his expression. "Of course I'll be in the front- along with Derwyn, of course." At the mention of the wolf's name, the creature approaches his master's side with a stern look on his face. The druid was glad there was at least one creature among them he could unconditionally rely upon.
And that brought him to a creature he knew it would be utter folly to rely upon. He wasn't surprised to see the fortune teller listening in on them. "Will you be joining us in the assault, Vioric? Were will you be in the fray?" He tries to keep his voice as level as he can while talking to the soothsayer, but no doubt some disdain slipped into his voice. It probably mattered little- no doubt the mage (if he even was a true mage) knew full well that his opinion of him was rather low.
After dealing with Vioric, Connacht spots Lothar and Carlo again and waves them over. "You two." As the two men approach, he beckons for Lin to come to him. As the three of them are there, he addresses all of them. "You'll be coming with us in the rear as we approach the valley. When we get to the valley, you three stay behind. Lothar, Carlo, you two keep the boy safe, Lin, don't do anything foolish. When things are clear, I'll send a runner and let you know it's safe to come into the valley itself. Are we clear?"
"Excellent. I will send Alexius towards the front. We await your signal. May Gorum, God of Battle, watch over us, Imperial Agent." The noblewoman says then adds, "And Erastil as well. Surely he, of all the gods, would support a community destroying an outside peril to their livelihood and very lives."
Viorec looks displeased when Connacht spots him and calls him by name. The man, who moves with quiet grace through the shadows as if the gloom is nothing to him, says, "As I said, I will do my part. Wheldrake is my town as well. I may not be in the first wave, but I will be close at hand. Unless you have other orders?"
As he heads for Lothar and Carlo the druid feels a strange cool breeze cross his face, out of tune with the natural rhythm of the night. he freezes instantly, eyes sharp, ears pricked. At his side Derwyn pauses, detecting his concern. But Connacht sees and hears nothing out of place. Just the jumpy miltia, most with eyes locked him him, looking nervous. The arrow cannot wait in the bow forever and the men either need ordered forward or back soon.
Lothar and Carlo stand near the small figure of Lin, barely visible in the darkness. The kid nods saying, in their high pitched voice of a child, "I understand. I don't want to fight, I want to help the wounded." A pause and then, "Good luck."
Connacht nods at Sabinus's words, but his thoughts are quite different. Erastil, let them already be dead. As far as he was concerned, the best case scnario is if their mysterious friend had done them the favor of taking care of the bandit problem on their own. It would certainly make things easier.
A frown forms on the imperial agent's face as he finds himself dealing with Vioric. Go crawl back into whatever abyss you come from. Connacht holds his tongue as the fortune teller speaks. "Ready yourself. We're assaulting them now."
A chill goes down his spine as he feels the cold gust of wind, and Derwyn lets out a small growl as he senses his master tense up. But as far as Connacht can tell, it's nothing more than the wind.
"Pray for us, please." Connacht tells the boy before departing without any more words. What else could be said?
The servant of Taldor strides to the front of the group as he draws his blade, choosing now to address the militia. "I'll be leading us into the valley along with Lord Sabinus and her son. Sesser's militia will be right behind us, followed by the rest of you. Once we enter the valley, there'll be a cluster of trees for a while before we hit a small collection of hovels. That's where they'll be." There's a brief pause before Connacht speaks again. "We all know what needs to be done. There's no point in waiting any longer."
Mustering the best impression of a military sergeant he can muster, he calls out to the group in a low but firm voice. "Advance!"
And so begins the descent into the valley, the druid with his pack of humans behind him...
"I will pray." Lin says, and their eyes look very dark and very wide in the night.
Connacht takes his position at the front of the small column of shaky troops. Alexius is standing there with a feral smile that makes Connacht's blood run cold. he was about to turn a monster loose on the people below. Still, better he take out such impulses here, in battle...right?
The Lady Sabinus is a bit farther over, taking the far left flank. She nods when Connacht presents the very simple and straight forward plan. The militia take in his words and there is no cheer, no rattling of weapons. The druid is unsure if this is nerves or simply that they wish to avoid making too much noise. He would never know.
Connacht takes up point position, Derwyn at his side. The days of planning, the hours of marching, the long conversations, horse-trading and diplomacy all coming to a head. His first grand maneuver as agent of Taldor in Wheldrake. If he succeeded he could begin the process of turning the town around....defeat? No, best not to think of that.
Then, like someone else is doing it, Connacht gives the order to advance and he is at the tip of a spear, rushing toward the valley. Quickly they cross the rocky expanse from the narrow defile to the lip of the bandit valley. Somewhere, hidden in the blackness, is the body of the killed sentry. he passes it without pause, and is soon heading down the narrow forest path.
Soon he is among the trees again, now pillars of shadow in the dark. The air is humid again, although this time tinged with a strange odor...sulfur? With the rustling of the troops growing behind him, Connacht is forced to keep a sharp pace or be overrun. Lacking discipline it seems the militia is rushing headlong in the dark, picking up pace on the steep incline. Many are crushing through the small forest on either side of the path, making audible noise and even disturbing some of the roosting birds.
They had made the crest of the valley without opposition but any chance of general surprise is lost. Soon Connacht will be leaving the trees and be entering the cleared space around the crude huts of the bandits.
Connacht feels yet another chill as he sees the savage look cross Alexius's face. A part of the druid had intended to talk to Sabinus about her young and untrained son being part of the vanguard. A part of him had worried about what would happen should the heir of Wheldrake fall in battle.
It would be the best thing that had happened to Wheldrake in years.
There it was. He hated himself for thinking it, but that was the simple truth of the matter.
Sesser might have been more right about you than you wanted to admit.
It truly does feel to the druid that he is a prisoner in his own body as he calls for the advance- at least for a while. He's grateful for the adrenaline rush that helps to put aside all the worries and doubts he's felt up until now. Shortly after the charge begins he pulls out his firearm. Whatever might happen, he'd go into all of this well armed at least.
One foot in front of the other. Then again. Then once more. Faster and faster. All his ears can hear is the sound of dozens of feet trampling over the desert earth, a dull thudding noise repeating itself, over and over again. Better that noise than hearing his heart nearly beat itself out of his chest. A war cry would help with morale, of course. But surprise was a greater concern of his than morale, at least at this point.
And then he smells the sulphur, and the man feels as if someone had placed an anvil right in his stomach. Damnation! Something hadn't been right here. From one strange event to the next, he had suspected that there was something bigger going on in this place. Something far worse than a mere pack of bandits.
As there was no way to go but forward at this point, Connacht resolves that if nothing else he'll be the first one exposed to whatever hellish thing awaited them in the clearing or in the caves.... So he pushes himself to run faster- attempting to outrun the rest of the militia and the mercenaries, for him and Derwyn to be the first among their army to breach the forest and enter the clearing, at least so that the others might be given some warning before facing whatever awaited them.
Wessa would skin him alive if she ever heard about this.
For one final moment Connacht is among the tightly growing trees, the night air humid and cool against his skin. His gun is a comforting weight in one hand, Derwyn at his heel. The dirt path feels good under his boots, rich and loamy, a welcome chance from the sun-blasted plateau above. A final moment of peace, on the edge of a charging storm.
Then he breaks cover, stopping just as he comes into the edge of the bandit clearing and it chaos. Ahead of him are the same collection of ramshackle huts he saw before, little more then shells of scavenged wood and weeds. A large bonfire burns in the center of the hovels, giving the entire setting an orange glow.
It seems like there had been a large bandit gathering around the bonfire until Connacht's army began the descent. Clearly their assault had not gone unmarked. Men and women are running everywhere, some heading for the huts, others heading toward the valley path and others running deeper into the narrow canyon. Some are armed, others not, details hard to make out in the dim flickering light.
A few notice Connacht as he bursts from the trees, and one arrow comes sailing toward him, obviously having been held by a waiting hand.
But the dancing shadows seemingly foil the aim and the projectile streaks harmlessly into the night air. A close call but Connacht has had closer.
Even as the druid realizes this Alexius breaks through the undergrowth near him, sword glinting in his hand. There is a wild, feral look on the young's man usually bland face, a desire for pain and destruction.
Connacht bursts forth into the clearing expecting far worse than a stray arrow to greet him- but all he finds is purely mundane chaos and confusion. It's enough to cause him to break his sprint.
Oh. For a brief second, the surge of adreneline seems to fade away, all of Connacht's fears and worries shown as little more than folly. This would be an all too mortal affair, except where his own actions were concerned. The Imperial agent lets out a druidic chant as his cold iron sword slices through the air and briefly opens a rift into the elemental demiplane of lightning that spews out two vaguely canine shaped creatures seemingly made of lightning and stormclouds.
Now with three other creatures at his disposal, Connacht directs them to be the first to draw blood. Pointing at one of the bandits and giving the specific whistle tune he trained Derwyn with, the steadfast hound bolts off to the right, through the forest and lunges at one of the bandits near the front of the Valley.
The two lightning elementals charge into the bandits with no hesitation, "running" a few feet off the ground and leaving trails of sparks in their wake. The first charges straight ahead with nearly reckless speed and catapults itself into a bandit standing in front of the bonfire[/ooc]
The second elemental rushes off to assist on the left flank with Derwyn, rising a bit more off the ground and attacking one of the bandits while staying fairly high off the ground.
Connacht takes the brief reprieve to harden his nerves for the struggle ahead, crying out"For Taldor and Wheldrake!" before striding forward into the fray..
Despite the strange feeling of anti-climax (was it really just a valley full of simple, quarreling bandits?) Connacht throws himself into the fight. Whoever the foe they were a very real menace to the community of Wheldrake. Even this straightforward fight may claim many lives if he did not tilt the balance.
There is a crack of thunder as Connacht opens a portal to the Plane of Air and calls forth sparking lightning elementals. Even as they form, Connacht urges Derwyn to charge at one of the stunned bandits.
The wolf's slavering jaws do not make contact as the bandit fends off the beast with his club. Still the growling animal is not easy to ignore.
With a crackling sizzle the first lightning elemental zips over the grassy valley floor right onward one of the bandits. With a sharp sounding crash it hits the dirty man right in the chest, sending him flying backward. he stumbles and falls right into the blazing bonfire with a scream.
The other heads toward the other pocket of bandits and attacks a bandit with a dented short sword. While lighting crackles from the metal at the strikes, the bandit manages to dodge the blows.
As Connacht takes a step forward, more chaos breaks loose. At his side, Alexius charges forward, churning up the thin dirt of the clearing, reaching up to the first lighting elemental.
Even as he does this, other militia members start breaking through the undergrowth, slowed by the final band of bushes on the edge of the woods. Connacht sees a few emerge and, to his relief, Sesser is one of the first near at hand.
"Let's take them, lads!" he bellows, voice deep and gravelly. Connacht notes the bald-headed caravan guard has no weapons, attacking with balled fists. His steps are quick and light in the dark, heading toward the bandits.
Chaos runs rampant among the bandits not only have to contend with an unknown number of Wheldrake citizens descending on them, but lighting elementals attacking them. Most are still running for cover or weapons, but a few are already armed and ready to fight to the death.
The bandit pushed into the fire writhes in pain and agony, his shouts rising over the swiftly building battlefield.
He stumbles out of the fire and tries to put himself out, desperately rolling on the ground to smother the painful flames.
He fails, the fires burning brightly.
Two bandits already armed and now squatting in doorways let loose with arrows at Connacht.
Both go wide, one skidding on the dirt at Connacht's feet another vanishing into the night air. Clearly the druid's luck is holding.
One of the bandits, on the other side of the blazing bonfire is unarmed but does not run for shelter or weapons. Indeed, the striking half-elf holds her arms wide in what is obviously an arcane gesture. She runs up behind another bandit, a hulking half-orc with a battle axe and touches it. There is a brief flash of arcane light as the spell seemingly lingers on the rusted metal for a moment. The half-orc nods and tenses, clearly ready to run forward.
Connacht rushes forward ahead of Sesser and his mercenaries- in part to prove a point to himself, in part because that's what was required of him, and in part because that's what would end the battle quickly. "Somebody get the witch!" Connacht calls out before leveling his firearm at a gaggle of bandits and pulling the trigger.
As the gun blast echoes through the entire valley (no doubt drawing a whole lot of attention towards Connacht), the lightning elemental bolts off to the left- but not towards the mage. Approaching the bandit with the freshly magic ax, the lightning creature lunges for his weapon, intending to relieve him of it.
Over the right flank, Derwyn retreats and begins circling the bandit as the elemental hound shifts it's focus, descending from the ground and moving away from
Connacht darts ahead, weapon in hand. Standing back was simply not an option even if it was the safest one. The druid skids to a stop, watching the chaos unfold in front of him as bandits run this way and that, scrambling for weapons or (in one case) screaming with pain as fire engulfs them.
The Imperial agent takes this all in and pulls up his gun. The heavy masterwork dragon pistol, a miracle of engineering feels solid in his grip, weighted as perfectly as any sword or spear. Hand clutching the grip, he sights down a group of packed bandits, lets out a breathe and pulls the trigger.
There is a wet, snick sound.
Then nothing.
The gun does not fire. All the bandits blink, and then a few grin despite the panic and battle.
Connacht cries out in frustration as the firearm becomes a worthless hunk of metal and wood. No matter- he’d faught plenty of battles without that newfangled contraptions.
He readies himself for the battle ahead, continuing to advance into melee...
The gun does not fire and Connacht winces, preparing for the storm of metal likely heading his way. At least though, he hasn't drawn much attention to himself. Also, his elementals still follow his commands.
The flickering lightning creature darts forward and, with a crackle of energy knocks the magical axe from the half-orc's grip. The fighter howls in frustration, and actually stamps his foot as his latest toy goes flying.
Meanwhile Derwyn and another elemental work together to harass and bring down another bandit. While they don't kill the greasy haired woman, she is soon face down in the dust, caught off guard by her two foes working together.
Meanwhile, more militia break cover, some joining directly into the battle, others charging forward. Connacht can see, through the confusion of battle and the flicker of firelight, it is still mostly the caravan guards.
Sesser runs up and says, "Going well?" he glances at the inert gun with a cruious look.
Bad Guy's Turn
More arrows whine out of the darkness as more bandits gather weapons and get a sense of the battle.
Two of them slam into Connacht's upper chest, lancing through his armor and clothes. The druid can feel trickles of blood welling up against his skin, hot and wet.
Ahead, Connacht spots the half-orc bandit move to scoop up his still arcanely glittering axe, provoking an attack from the still hovering lightning elemental.
Arcs of painful blue bolts play across the half-orc's skin, searing it like a well cooked steak. The man ignores it however and lashes back.
The axe whirs through the elemental, making the strange creature flicker and fade slightly.
"Come on!" the half=orc roars and another bandit follows suit.
But the blow goes wide, as the lighting elemental dodges away.
Farther back the mage frowns at this,and whips forward a pale hand. Two shimmering plumes of arcane power appear and streak toward the lighting elemental, slamming into it unerringly.
The summoned creature withstands the strokes, but is obviously injured.
Over tot he side, Derwyn and the other elemental fight and spar, not taking serious damage as more militia run up.
The fight is still chaotic, with the bandits taking up defensive posture and starting to rain arrows into the charging caravan guards. Connacht sees a few fall, although just taking cover or due to injury it is hard to tell.
Connacht would have made some snarky remark to himself about Sesser's sense of timing had he not been in the middle of a battle. The answer was simple enough. Not great. Two arrows to the chest could kill a man, and for all he knew they'd hit something vital and he'd be down and out in a minute.
"Doesn't matter." The druid says through gritted teeth in a voice that almost comes out as a growl. He wasn't about to retreat from the vanguard right in front of the man who he asked to put his entire family on the front line. Turning towards one of the flamable huts where one of the archers is hiding, Connacht traces several sigils into the air that begin to cackle with flame before dissipating.
For a brief moment, nothing else happens, and for a second Sesser might even assume that whatever spell Connacht attempted to place was just as futile as his firearm. Any such impression fades away as the inside of the shack begins to burn and the outlaw within begins to scream.
It reminds Connacht far too much of the screams he heard as his own village was burned down for comfort.
"Two from the right flank, support us!" He calls out after giving a brief turn of his shoulder over to to see how they were handling it. Given the nature of the fight and the fact that they would probably soon be reinforced by the horde of bandits, a bit more support would be needed at the center of the fray.
Of course, he'd be right there with them.
Over on the right flank, the lightning elemental and the wolf continue to fight with the bandits...
Derwyn then shifts his attention, circling around the already occupied bandit until reaching the as of yet unassailed brigand before attempting to bring the creature to the ground.
Connacht is in no mood for quips as Sesser runs up and offers his jibe. Men and women were dying in this fight, people who (on both sides) had no business doing so. Instead of speaking he reaches deep and calls forth enough split in the planes, this time opening a portal to the distant Plane of Fire.
In a moment a rocky, glowing form shimmers into being, crouching just inside the doorway of one of the rickety shacks. The archer near it just as time to curse once before the entire structure flash burns in a fireball. It reminds Connacht of a magician's torch, one moment nothing, the next an incendiary fireball burning white hot. Screams from inside are quickly snuffed out by roiling smoke. Militia and bandits alike avert their eyes from the suddenly raging fire....and the screams of torment.
Meanwhile Derwyn and the lightning elemental make short work oft he fallen bandit, the wolf's growl deep enough to make anyone think twice. The canine leaps wildly and rips at the chest of yet another bandit, who also falls at the onslaught.
The fight is going well but Connacht feels awfully exposed up here, and the lack of Lady Sabinus worries him. But he has no time for that as foes rush at him!
Two bandits attack Connacht, new shadows dancing across the ground, as if running from the burning shack. For once though, no arrows come singing out of the darkness. At the least the fire and onslaught have done that much. It is a smell relief as two separate swords swing for the druid!
Connacht dodges one but the other catches him on the upper arm, opening a new wound. Between this and the arrows Connacht is starting to feel a bit shaky from the blood loss and a little cold. This couldn't go on forever.
Through the tangle of weapons and arms, Connacht watches the half-orc, still shimmering axe back in hand, charge toward Alexius with a roar. The young man looks totally surprised and whatever training he has falls away. Pale faced he actually drops his sword and cowers away from the howling attacker. Too late, much too late.
The blow bites deep into the Taldane noble's shoulder and bright red blood spurts into the air like a geyser. The youth man cries out and buckles under the blow, going to one knee.
The wizard suddenly blinks out of sight, casting invisibility on herself.
Connacht now second guesses himself. making this fight would not be so easy. If Alexius went down and the bandits withstood the charge of the caravans guards....could the local townsfolk really send the attack home? Already it seems that many are still hiding in the woods...
Then above the crackle of fires, the ringing of steel and the pained cries of dying men Connacht hears a voice.
"IT IS COMING!" A wild looking bandit runs up the path from deeper in the valley. "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" And ignoring the fighting and fire, speeds right though the battle toward the path leading out of the valley.
As Connacht continues to bleed and nobody from the left flank seems keen on following his instructions, the druid lets out a shrill whistle, and simultaneously the conjured elementals and Derwyn all converge towards the center of the battlefield.
As the imperial agent dodges one blade stroke (while walking right into the other), Connacht takes the moment to reposition himself on the battlefield, maneuvering to place one of the bandits right between Sesser and himself. The first moment the bandit seems at all distracted by his predicament, Connacht takes the chance to plunge his schimtar right into him.
This was life and death- and in these matters, the the servant of Erastil would not falter or fall back upon rules of honor propagated by fools in distant courts.
And that's when he hears the madman, wailing and screaming for them all to abandon their petty squabble to avoid the wrath of some unknown creature- and for a time it feels as if Connacht's heart stops beating. His steadfast hound attempts to bring the vagabond to the ground but the villain- much to his credit- is faster and continues out towards the exit of the valley- no doubt ensuring that he'll meet a bloody end at the hands of the town militia.
At least that's what he hoped for.
The magma elemental staggers its way outside of the flaming building, leaving the poor criminal to his flaming doom and lurching towards the already wounded bandit being flanked before lunging at it. The burning monstrosity looks as if it intends to drag the bandit down into some sort of hell.
The lightning elemental is the last to race towards connacht, and shortly before the elemental hound is at his side, connacht swings his sword in an arc through the air and shouts out a command in druidic, "Sáqɥáᴉl ɐu lǝɐuqɥ!" Right on cue, the elemental leaps through the sky, vaulting itself over the bandits and floating right up behind the orc wielding the battle axe before it levels into the creature, hopefully with somewhat more success than the elemental that went before it.
As the battle continues to rage, Connacht feels his focus slipping. What am I doing here!?! The question runs on repeat in his mind as he lets out a battlecry in a vain attempt to silence it.
Something was coming. He could feel it in his bones- the bandit who ran away was no mere coward attempting to trick them all to save his hide. If only I KNEW what it was so I can put an end to it!
It didn't help that finding out what it was would be exactly what he was afraid of- more than the bandits, certainly.
Connacht stabs a man in the back, the cold iron blade sinking deep into the bandit's flesh. Even as he does so, Sesser uses the opening given to punch the man in the face, so hard that Connacht can hear bone and teeth break even over the clatter of battle. The bandit drops tot he ground, senseless and bleeding profusely. Indeed, the entire clearing is spattered with blood, probably the wettest this valley has been since the last rain years ago.
The druid watches the shouting man run past, raving about some new and unknown attacker. The man's crazed look, panicked shout and utter disregard for the battle makes Connacht's blood run cold. What was out there? How horrible thing had the bandits angered? Was it drawn forth by his attack. By the blood?
Still, when Derwyn's trip fails the druid puts it out of his mind. he had a battle already to win. Whatever horrors awaited could...wait.
At his command the magma elemental slides out of the burning hut, obviously unharmed by the raging inferno. Vaguely humanoid and dimly glowing it advances slowly on the other bandit in striking range of Connacht. One of it's red-hot fists hits the bandits but it is a glancing blow that does little but startle the man.
More dramatic is the lightning elemental which soars up over the battlefield with a loud crackling sound, leaving a trail like a comet. With a resounding crash it lands next tot he half=orc, wreathed in shimmering electricity. it slams into the roaring axe wielder, avenging the 'death' of the other elemental. The blow lands and leaves dark angry burn marks on the half-orc's flesh but the bandit seems focused on Alexius's kneeling form.
The battle rages on as militia, caravan guards and bandits do battle. The militia seem to have the upper hand but it is hard to tell in the dark, through his own injuries. It does seem the townsfolk have mostly closed with the bandits however, removing the advantages of range and fortification. It is a matter of blade and hand to hand combat down, with men and women dying in the dirt.
Out of the woods Conancht sees Viorec appear, walking as calmly as if on a night time stroll.
The bandit near Connacht eyes the smoldering elemental and decides the human might be the better target. At least hitting the druid won't make his wooden club catch fire.
The blow hits Connacht in the hip, knocking him slightly off balance and probably leaving a nasty welt. He is still up and fighting however.
The mage is still out of sight, gods only knows where by now.
The axe armed half-orc roars in pain at the lightning attack but ignores it, seeming determined to kill the kneeling noble in front of him. He takes a single step, to flank the young man.
The half-orc, greenish skin tight with exertion swings the axe but Alexius dives for the ground at the last moment. Face down in the mud he lies there, hands spread and shouts, "Please, let me live!" His voice is high-pitched and panicked, barely audible over the din of combat.
Then, from up the road Connacht sees something that makes his heart stop. Four more bandits rushing from deeper int he valley. They look taller, better armed with spear and shield, running fast. Reinforcements? Could he fight so many, without his gun and already faced with so many foes? This coutner charge might break the fragile morale of the Wheldrake citizens....
Then Connacht sees they are running in terror.
Behind them looms a much larger, disturbing shape.
It is humanoid, of a sort, striding up the valley path toward the battle. But taller, much taller, troll sized, with smooth crystalline skin that glitters in the growing firelight. It has four arms, each splitting at the elbow into two three-fingered forearms which spread out from the hardened body. It is both bizarre and strangely beueitful, moving with a grace that speaks of heavens and the great planes of existence. It is very out of place in the dirty valley, surrounded by the dead and the dying.
To his surprise, Connacht knows what this blank-faced thing is. A Theletos Aeon. A strange guardian of liminal spaces between the planes, powered by fate itself. Bizarre and guided by unknowable rules, theletos have many strange powers that Connacht can only vaguely recall. But why is it here?
The creature moves with that same unnerving grace right into the bandit camp. It pauses for a moment, blank face seeming to scan the struggling forces. The weird face seems to stare at each of them in turn. It faces Connacht and, unbidden he sees a sharp mental mental of himself running away from the fight, leaving the valley.
Then the aeon passes on, gaze turning to each in turn. It utterly ignores the roaring inferno next to it, even as flames lick out to dance across it's smooth, unbroken stone-like flesh.
Without a single word it raises a hand and wave sit at the cluster of spear carrying bandits. At the gesture they flinch and start to back pedal, shouting in a new terror. They throw their weapons away and dart for the trees.