Istiel scoffs at Cueta. "Mwangi, I am not here to start a war. I see no other reso-" The warrior looks on, dumbfounded, as Cueta approaches the hobgoblin and disarms. "It was told you tied yourself to a tree for hours, in a storm, and fought off kuru with your bow! Where did your legendary bravery go? The Kellid's son is no liar." Dark hazel eyes stare at Cueta with disappointment.
Shrugging of the elf's insults, Cueta continues speaking in a measured tone. "Sometimes it is good to be a tiger, or a crocodile. But it does no good to be a tiger if you are surrounded by hunters. Then, be a mosquito, or a peacock, or a cat. Learn that lesson and you'll do better than your friends we burned yesterday. And if you don't learn that lesson... Well, I plan on getting home to my sister. I'll be sure to tell Manari that you failed your people bravely."
As Kal'Tos lowers his shield, the hobgoblin nods, repeating the gesture. When the dwarf stops, the hobgoblin blathers impatiently, jabbing up with his spear, and repeating the gesture with his free hand.
He shakes his head impatiently at your words, but when Cueta drops her weapon, it points at her, and then drops his spear. Then he points at Kal'Tos, and makes the lowering gesture again. Whatever he's saying, he feels very strongly about it.
Kal'Tos makes sure that the light from his shield is pointed at the ground about half way in between the two groups and places his axe on the ground.
"Istiel, Gair see if they speak any of the languages you can converse in"
The cracking of Istiel's teeth could almost be heard as she sets her jaw against the Mwangi's comments. The elf says only one thing in reply. "I will not be a bird in a cage- like your sister was."
She turns her gaze to the hobgoblin leader and watches the display of disarming. She stays in cover behind the tree, but lowers her arm from her quiver. Could these be different hobgoblins? Or is this a trick?
The elf sighs as Kal'tos asks her to speak her known languages, feeling it pointless, but she does as asked.
"আপনি বোঝেন না?"
"ທ່ານເຂົ້າໃຈ?
Glancing quickly to Kal'Tos and then back to the goblin, Cueta says quietly, "If we die tonight, it has been a pleasure, Priest of Abadar."
When the hobgoblin lowers its spear, Cueta gives him what she hopes is her most dazzling smile, her mind darting between the goblins around them and the elf behind her. Good, goblin, lower your spear. Good, elf, keep your attention on me and not them. We don't need anyone shot - yet.
Calmly, Cueta again addresses Istiel, while keeping her eyes locked onto the hobgoblin. "You need not worry yourself, child. You have neither the patience nor the stamina to endure what my sister has. By morning, you'll be either be dead or with me, walking home."
I have no intention of making this night my last on this plane."
Gair raises the blade of his axe to shield his eyes as light erupts from Kal'Tos' shield. He shifts his stance to face the whispering voices in the tree and spots the grizzled hob moving into view. Lips pull back from his teeth and the kellid growls at the newcomer, sounding more beast than man for a moment.
He seems surprised as the hob appears to request everyone put their weapons down. His axe stays raised but he cocks he head at the hob, eyes sweeping over the trees behind him, searching for the others. When Ceuta moves forward his lips purse but the axe does lower to his waist.
He frowns at Istiel's words, "The words of my son are true, Istiel. This one understands you need not always draw blood against a rival pack. You would do well to learn the same lesson."
Gair turns his attention back to the hob, "This one and his friends will learn their mistake if they try to take us unaware..."
Eyes fixed on the hobgoblin, Gair slowly lowers his axe to the ground...
Istiel laughs aloud when Cueta calls her a "child". The elf could clearly carry on the trading of insults, but she says nothing, instead regarding Gair.
The elf speaks in a voice only Gair could hear. "Your words would be different if these hobs killed your family, Gair." She places her bow at the base of the tree, out of sight, and comes around the side of the hardwood. Unsheathing her sword, she tosses the shoddy human blade in front of her as if it were a worthless stick.
The warrior stands at her full height, arms crossed, intensely staring at the hobgoblin leader.
Cueta lets out a short bark of a laugh when Kal'Tos speaks. "Of that, Kal'Tos, I have no doubt. And if the goblins have planned a trick, they'll find this out in short order, I'm sure."
When Istiel's longsword hits the ground, Cueta exhales in relief, and then holds her breath, focusing her ears, and slowly moves her head from side to side, trying to gauge the numbers of the hobgoblins in the dimly lit forest.
The grizzled hobgoblin calls out in his language, and waits, watching you carefully.
A second, younger hobgoblin approaches the first, handing him a leather sack, then he disappears into the darkness. The first sets the bag on the ground and opens it. He takes a parcel wrapped in leaves and opens it, and a warm smell of meat and grain reaches you as he takes a bite. Then he closes the bag and collects his spear. He points again at the shield, and makes an unmistakable shooing gesture.
Leaving the bag, he turns and begins to walk away.
Istiel watches curiously as the young hobgoblin runs up with a leather bag. She tenses as he sets the bag on the ground- It's going to be a head... the elf thinks.
Her entire body visibly relaxes as the bag contains food. She sighs, and shakes her head. Could there be another tribe? Did they attack because of the fire? I will find the answers eventually.
As they leave Istiel looks at their feet to see if they are wearing boots or not.
Approaching the leather bag, the elf lowers down to her haunches to inspect it, waving Kal'tos over to shed light on the offering.
Kal'Tos moves forward so the light from his shield can be better directed at the offering.
Cueta approaches Istiel and Kal'Tos once the goblins have moved out of sight, curious as to what the leader left. As the smell of meat and grain hits her nostrils, the mariner smiles and breathes deep, savoring the scent. Looking to her companions, Cueta blushes and says, "If no one else wants to try it, I will. I've had my fill of raw monkey."
Istiel places two fingers on the meat, and then touches them to her tongue. She pauses for a moment, tasting. "I will try it as well."
The meat is oddly seasoned, mixed with a mash of grain and vegetables to make a sort of pie. It tastes odd, but is not harmful in any way.
They were not.
Istiel nods as she samples the food offering. "Strange, but edible." The elf looks off towards where the hobgoblins left. Were these the ambushers, or another group? These hobs appear to want peace.
The elf collects the meat mash up in its leaf wrapping and leather bag. "There may be more than one group of hobs. These appear friendly, at least." She picks her sword off the ground, sheathing it, and tosses her bow around her shoulders. The elf settles by the tree, planning to return to her meditations.
"We should make haste back to Newspring come dawn."
"Agreed, there are many issues that must be discussed when we return."
Cueta tears into a meat pie, gulping it down between large drinks from her waterskin, running her forearm over her smiling mouth as she chews, to wipe away the meat juices that run down her chin.
-----------------
Belly full, she leans back against a tree and lets out a contented sigh. If we just had some rum, this would be a perfect beginning to the day."I'm no farmer, but don't grains take some skill to cultivate? More than some scraggly subsistence foragers would have, correct? These goblins could be valuable friends if they have native grains and the knowledge to harvest them."
"If we come back here, let's bring someone who knows the tongue of our goblins back home. And some gifts, as many as we can carry. We need something to make them think we're worth courting. Among the Chelish, many sweet words and small favors are exchanged before the leggings come off."
Istiel raises an eyebrow at Cueta's turn of phrase. "I have no intention of removing my breaches, but if they are truly friendly these hobs would appreciate some weaponry. They were using stone spears."
Gair picks up his axe as the hobgoblins, watching the trees for a long while after they have departed. Eventually he seems satisfied and joins the others to take stock of the gift they had been left. He sniffs one of the meat pies gingerly, before taking a large bite and smiling, "A lot better than the imps at least."
He nods at the exchange between Ceuta and Istiel, "Indeed, we still have a number of those cutlasses from the harpy. I'm sure the steel will impress such creatures..."
Eyes still closed, smile still on Cueta's lips, she continues musing. "Grain, grain, grain. If they have grain, not only may they have farmers, but they might have alcohol to. I'd give up all my goodies for a good case of rum, or a barrel of grog - enough to have a proper party with."
Slowly, the smile fades from Cueta's face, and eyes still closed, her expression darkens. "And make no mistake, if they have what we need, we may have to get f*$$ed, in a manner of speaking of course. We have many needs. Did you see the way our people stripped the land around Newspring, in the short time we were gone to the Portress?"
"Most of the people there, they have no place in this new world. They strip the land and the waters of any value, and then are too scared to move on. Instead of migrating en masse, with protection in numbers, they send a small group out here to their deaths. Everyone here is a mother to the people of Newspring. We can hunt and fight and fish. There are a few mothers back at Newspring as well, but most of the people back there - they are little more than children suckling at our teats. Even the ones I love, they will take much more than they can give. And that is ok enough for me. Like all mothers, we must bear unpleasantness for our children. But these upcoming days may be no time for pride."
The Mwangi's eyes open and she sighs again, searching out Istiel in the darkness. "And, Istiel, I would like to apologize to you. I know that you are no child, that you are mother to our people. I said the things I said to keep your anger on me. And I know, better than most, the sickening feeling of vengence stillborn in your womb. I've been walking around with that feeling since Portress. I can tell you this, though. I will help you, and if we find the ones that killed your friends, I'll help you get your pound of flesh. No one should be denied satisfaction for such a loss. But I ask you to wait awhile, for the sake of the children of Newspring. You'll live a long time, and I hear your people have long memories."
--------------------
Cueta closes her eyes again, and breathes deep, listening to the talk of her comrades, sounds of the nighttime forest, and before long, she's asleep, sitting up at her tree, hands folded across her full belly.
Istiel scoffs at the mention of rum or grog. "I'd prefer some wine."
As Ceuta waxes on about some human nonsense involving motherhood and finding ones place in the world, Istiel tunes her out and stares up at the stars. Calistria... May your stinger find its way into my hands, and allow me to punish those that took my brothers from this world.
As Cueta says her name, the elf snaps back into the mundane world, turning large hazel eyes on the Mwangi. Her face is a mask of impassiveness as the woman speaks. Once she is finished talking, an uncomfortably long pause follows- it's hard to tell if the elf was even listening.
Suddenly, the warrior speaks. "Apology accepted. Thank you." Closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the tree she has chosen to rest at, the elf returns to her meditations, deciding to relive her recent memories of Castien and Limglad again, as she did the night before.
Gair looks thoughtfully at Ceuta, "We have as strong of mothers as any of these settlers could ask for. But where I am from, children without fathers are often too soft for the hard times they inevitably must face. I will do what I can to see they find the strength they will require."
"If these hobs we met are indeed rivals of those that slew Castien, Limglad and the others, we may not need as much from them as you fear Ceuta. We may well be able to raid the others for much of what we require? They have already made themselves our enemies and these we met are likely to be grateful if we can be a thorn in the side of those they have a blood feud with."
"We shall need to bring Vallen and Sorala here so that we can understand what these hobs have to say. Now you need to sleep, there many miles to cover come the dawn."
Leaning back against a tree, with his axe propped up beside him, Gair settles in to his watch.
Cueta's breathing comes regular and shallow, and her words come slurred and drawn out, her mind clearly wandering.
"Mothers... fathersss, it matters not what is between your legs... we're all proud parents these days it ssseems... the hobs may be one and same... friendssss, foes... ... I ask only... that Istiellll..."
With a small slump, the Mwangi begins snoring.
Istiel sighs as her elven ears pick up Cueta's sleep murmuring, silently wishing she had a scarf or some other article to stuff in the Mwangi's mouth. The elf rubs at her forehead as her name is mentioned prior to the woman falling asleep.
"You have the patience of an antlion, Kellid. She mutters to Gair, returning to her meditations.
Gair chuckles softly, "I thought it was your people who are known for such things?"
Istiel smiles softly, her eyes still closed. "They are. However, after these past few days I am convinced we could learn something from you."
The chuckle continues, "I learned my patience from the hunt. Though do not expect such from my kinsmen should we ever welcome them to these strange shores...it is passion my people are known for."
As the explorers talk, the rest of the night passes uneventfully, and at first light, they set out for Newspring.
==========
The few remaining members of the Lady of the Waves contingent haven't seen any sign of their dwarven pursuers for three days now, but Rina is on high alert. Vasili Yeslizaveta has hardly spoken since they escaped the dwarves, but he is slowly emerging from the shock of their captivity. Everyone is telling themselves that Koschei is too young to understand what happened, but the fact that he keeps asking if they can visit the dwarves again has everyone on edge. In fact, the only thing he seems to admire more than the dwarves were the shark-teethed creatures that attacked them.
Yesterday morning, a half dozen tiny dragons appeared, much to Vasili's amazement, and began talking in everyone's heads. After quite a long while, Zoriya was able to puzzle out their language enough to understand that a large contingent of people like them had set up camp in a bay nearby a few weeks ago. Rina decided that their best bet was to try to find them, in the hopes that they were other survivors of the crossing. The group entered the bay, camping on the tip of a point where several strange, primitive sculptures were hidden in the dunes.
At noon today, sails were sighted. A halfling man and a human woman had been fishing and began to flee, but unwisely led the group straight to their home. The boats were pulled up on the beach by the time the survivors caught up, and a dozen men and women awaited them, armed with cutlasses and rough spears, led by a tall man in chain armor with a Taldan falcata, and a middle aged Qadiran wearing a bearskin and carrying a scimitar. Emerging from the forest behind is a dwarf with a gorgeous beard and no tattoos, an elven woman with a bow, an obese Mwangi half-orc, a half-elf carrying a statue as if it were her life, a Chelish man with a convict's brand and a beautiful young woman who is clearly related to the man with the falcata.
The group on shore visibly relaxes on seeing who is aboard the ship's boat, but they are clearly still ready for trouble.
==========
The day was going along quietly in Newspring, if grimly, when Sai burst out of the woods, screaming about enemies approaching. A few minutes later, Walton followed suit, and between them, the story was told of a mysterious sail approaching from the mouth of the bay. They were somewhat sheepish about admitting that they didn't wait to see who was approaching or what their intentions were, but they were sure that they were followed and that the other boat was an hour behind them, at best.
"Arm yourselves," Manari commanded, and Edmund Thayer asked his sister to fetch his armor from the tent where the women were recovering from their encounter with the kuru.
By the time the settlement's armed contingent reached the beach, along with the other leaders, the boat was nearing the beach. The lines suggested a ship's boat from an Absalomish vessel, and the crew and passengers had an Inner Sea look to them.
Septimus stays towards the back of the party heading to confront the new arrivals. After all no point in having the healers be the first to fall if conflict breaks out.
Kal'Tos urges the group back to Newspring at best speed. There are many important issues to discuss.
Cueta wakes with the first rays of sunlight through the trees, and grabbing a some meat pie, takes out her mapmaking kit and using the chalk and grid, and begins drawing the places that she can remember passing and seeing. Making note especially of the iron ore, the lake in the distance, the area she suspects the goblin territory is, and the area they encountered the monkeys.
When she draws the monkey's area, she at first she writes "imps" and then deciding it could cause a panic, wets her finger and erases the chalk word, writing instead "small monkeys - still dangerous though". As the others rise and go about packing and morning prayers, Cueta, not happy with her map, tells them she'll catch up, and climbs the largest tree near the campsite to survey the area. Perched on the highest branch she can safely sit on, the young woman again works at the map, refining it. After some consideration, she enlarges the areas around the monkeys and the hobgoblins more than what she thinks their territory actually is. Taking a different color of chalk, Cueta shades the rest of the area that the group surveyed yesterday and writes "safe to forage".
Once satisfied, she descends the tree and hustles to the others. Once caught up, Cueta makes notations on her map as they walk back to Newspring, asking the others their opinion on the veracity of the locations she has represented, and if she has missed anything, and alternating between paying attention her surroundings at vistas and important landmarks, and walking and working, trusting the eyes of Kal'Tos and Istiel to keep everyone safe.
Sorala is tending her alchemy stand when Sai and later Walton bring news of the ship sighting. Grabbing Garrack and her club, the half-elf makes her way down to the beach with the others, staying near the guards on the silent trip down.
Seeing the new arrivals the young woman breaths a heavy sigh of relief. Dropping her club, Sorala rubs her right temple, and says out loud to no one in particular, "They look like people from our expedition. I can't figure much more, but the orc - he's perhaps a follower of the Dawnflower."
Istiel is wide awake and watching the forest by the time the stir. She quietly sits and listens to the sounds of nature, trusting the birds, insects, and squirrels to give her warning of any approaching threat.
The elf strings her bow as they prepare to leave, relying on the rangers and the strangely proficient pathfinder dwarf to accurately guide them back home.
Istiel is wide awake and watching the forest by the time the stir. She quietly sits and listens to the sounds of nature, trusting the birds, insects, and squirrels to give her warning of any approaching threat.
The elf strings her bow as they prepare to leave, relying on the rangers and the strangely proficient pathfinder dwarf to accurately guide them back home.
Kal'Tos can increase his base movement speed to 40ft for 2 hours so he can hustle back quickly if needed.
Gair wakes early as well, the events of the night before still fresh in his mind. Breaking his fast on one of the meat pies, he nods to Ceuta as she tells them to go on ahead, "We head straight southwest. Do not linger too long."
Shouldering his gear and taking axe in hand, Gair sets out at the head of the group moving swiftly on the way back.
Hassan is checking on the food stores when word comes of the strangers in the bay. He nods to Edmund and Manari, heading out to gather those of his guard currently in the settlement, "Grab your weapons and armor, we'll form up at the longhouse in five minutes!"
Once everyone has gathered he leads them all down to the shore, fully prepared to face down a horde of the terrible cannibals he has heard so many stories about.
Catching sight of the boat as it nears the shore, the keleshite breathes a heavy sigh of relief, "Another of the ships must have made it! Perhaps there are from a larger group somewhere along the coast? Perhaps one of the backers have even survived!", he pauses for a moment, reigning in his enthusiasm, "Though looks can be deceiving..."
Striding down the beach with the others, Hassan calls out to the boat as loudly as he can, "From the expedition yes? Which ship did you set sail on?"
Ever since their capture Zoriya has been, more than anything else, wrathful. The indignity of confinement and abuse at the hands of demon worshipers was nothing compared to the sick terror of watching the same happen to her children, and she has always dealt best with fear by using it as the fuel for her rage.
She's been grimly efficient and determined along the way here, her former arrogance tempered to an air of authority. The people with her have become her responsibility, her allies, and even tentative companions. She kept her wrath focused sharply on their captors, something that her fellow travellers aren't likely to forget from their escape.
The only times she's softened have been to sing quiet, eerie lullabies to her children in their mother tongue, promising all manner of retribution for those who dared to trespass against them.
Zoriya stands at the bow of their boat with one hand steadying her next to the ragged, fierce looking owl that glares balefully at the beach party. The image she strikes is of a lady gone feral. Her black high-waisted travelling dress has been shortened to mid-thigh and paired with leggings, her black hair is tossed wildly by the breeze, and she has streaked three lines of charcoal down her right cheek. (The observant may spot dots in the same pattern on the faces of the two children in the boat.)
A quick look over the greeting party reassures her somewhat, but she stays on guard all the same. When the middle-aged man speaks up she focuses on him, eyes sharp and searching as she answers. "We are part of the expedition, and we sailed on The Lady of the Waves. Our second mate is Rina Sarap. Who am I addressing? Do you speak for these people?"
Vallen finishes his morning prayer session with his followers of Torag, getting up from his knees in front of his makeshift anvil-altar.
The cleric turns to his small contingent of Jarla, Gaross, and Horn'tos, unrolling one of his blankets on the ground. He begins the newly minted ritual of their daily Abstemiousness. Retrieving a few handfuls of nuts and berries he had requested from the halflings, the dwarf slowly pours lets them fall from his cupped hands.
"Ако се мазолести ръце, Torag благославя тяхната индустрия. Ако нашите общности да бъдат щастливи, Той благославя техния просперитет. Но ако нашите стомаси да бъдат празни, и нашата работа се забавя до обхождане, Torag запълва празнотата, така че ние може да продължи да произвежда велики дела в Неговото име."
The last nut falls from his hands on perfect timing, and he bends down to grab one handful, offering it to Jarla. "Torag запълва празнотата за Jarla, които усърдно coxes храна от земята, така че другите да могат да ядат. " Next, he offers a handful to Gaross. "Gaross, който определя тухли и хоросан в името Torag, създавайки една стена, за да запази нашите врагове в залива." The last goes to Horn'tos. "Horn'tos, които неуморно изгражда ковачница, така че нашето поклонение и занаяти могат да бъдат подходящи."
With the ritual finished, the cleric dismisses the group, planning on leaving with Horn'tos to continue their work on the forge.
It was around this moment that the news of possible invaders rippled through the village, setting Vallen on edge. He quickly put on his leather armor, slipped his hammer onto his belt, and strapped his shield onto his back. Picking up his crossbow and bolts, the dwarf rushes off to the beach with the others.
I am no hero... but I will defend our home until Torag calls me to his forge. He is surprised at how quickly he and the others are ready, as they stand on the beach together in a rough formation. Vallen finds a raised spot of ground near the back and loads his crossbow in anticipation.
When it is revealed they are of the Inner Sea and seemingly normal, Vallen relaxes but does not unload his crossbow quite yet, feeling lingering tension in the group. The dwarf moves up and falls into step with Hassan, his crossbow pointed at the ground, a hopeful look on his face as they approach the new group.
The dwarf looks up at Hassan after he shouts. "They have some humans kids with them. Toddler and a small boy by the looks of it. They move too clumsily and erratically to be halflings."
Vallen approaches the wild-looking woman with Hassan. The dwarf does not appear threatening in his demeanor, and keeps his crossbow pointed at the ground in two hands. An iron symbol of Torag hangs on a steel chain about his neck, prominently displayed on his chest between his well-kept double-braided beard, each ending in a brass ring.
"Welcome to Newspring, our humble shelter from the storm. This is Hassan, our resident General." He gestures at the keleshite, lowering his crossbow to point at the ground with one hand. "And I am Vallen Silverclasp, a stonemason and servant of Torag." The cleric bows his head slightly in respect. "We speak for the people as best we can." His eyes glance over the other survivors, lingering on the children for a moment.
"We were aboard the Lillend, the only ship to arrive at the bay unscathed. Who are you, and from where did you come?"
Hassan relaxes somewhat as the fierce-looking woman answers, sheathing his scimitar and pushing back the large hood of his armor.
He nods at Vallen's introduction, "I remember the [i]Lady of the Waves well. I am grateful to see you alive, perhaps more of the fleet made it to these shores after all."
Taking in the others on the boat, he makes note of the large half-orc especially. Turing he gestures in the direction of Edmund, Sorala, Manari and Sandra, "There are several here who speak for us. It is my task to answer with steel should our people be threatened."
Tired of shouting, Hassan stands with a hand on his sword hilt and waits for the small boat to properly land on the beach.
Sorala stands behind the guardsmen and looks at those pale children, trying to see how burnt they have gotten from the sun. Cupping her free hand over her mouth, she shouts, "How long have you been on that boat? How long have you been in the sun? Come ashore and we'll get you some food and springwater, and you can stay behind our palisade. I've got some skill with herbs and alchemy and Vallen is a priest. We can tend to any who need help."
Tomag stands tall on the boat, his axe hanging from a hoop on his belt. He looks worried when he realizes the group on shore is armed, and crosses his arms. However, after Zoriya starts the conversation with them, the half-orc relaxes and starts to smile once again. When the Keleshite man states his role, the missionary shouts,"We have no intention to threaten any of you. We have been fleeing from a clan of dwarves that sacrificed many of our crewmates, and we heard that you had settled here." Tomag signs heavily before continuing, "We are tired and hungry, and would be very appreciative of any assistance you can provide." Punctuating his statement, the half-orc bows deeply, which causes the boat to rock slightly. Realizing this, he stands up again, rubbing the back of his head with a slightly embarassed look on his face.
Turning to Zoriya, the half-orc smiles again. "They look like decent folk to me," he says in a quieter voice, reaching over to pat Vasily on the head.
Vallen begins to unload his crossbow while everyone is continuing to yell back and forth, removing the bolt from the groove and dry-firing the device. The dwarf is sliding the bolt back into his quiver and closing the flap when the half-orc yells about a clan of dwarves sacrificing people.
The cleric gasps, his icy blue eyes widening to the size of silver pieces. Unconsciously touching his holy symbol, Vallen mutters. "So they are real... and they hunt. Torag... your children..." The priest suddenly looks extremely upset, gripping his holy symbol tightly.
When the orc speaks of the native dwarves, Sorala moves next to Vallen, and lightly places her hand on his shoulder. "All cultures can suffer decline, and all cultures can witness rebirth. The sands of time and the tomes of history tell us so. Perhaps this is what Torag has in mind for you?"
Addressing the orc, Sorala shouts. "Well met, half-orc! I am Sorala. Come ashore and we can discuss these dwarves further. We're surrounded by hills - we need to know where they reside. I'm going to get my parchment and paper."
The half-elf picks up her club and turns on her heel in one fluid motion, and heads up the hill towards Newspring to gather her quill and paper.
Vallen whispers in a soft, sad voice after Sorala finishes speaking. He still clutches his holy symbol, and does not look at her. "You did not see their works, Sorala. They have been worshiping demons for thousands of years. I'm beginning to fear only the Axe of Dwarvish Lords itself could allow them to see the errors of their ways."