"I haven't begun to be unfair," Zoriya murmurs, lifting a hand to cup Tomag's jaw.
"Listen. Do you hear me?"
Tomag turns his face up to look Zoriya in the eyes. His darkvision causes his pupils to reflect what little moonlight there is. "I hear you," he replies.
Cueta looks down at Paaie and then back at the group still on the beach, and smiles at the halfling. "I'd love the company. I'm afraid that I left my pack at Newspring, and I could use the help finding the trail back." Looking over the halflings, clothes, Cueta observes the simple dress of a crewman. "You're a sailor, yes? You must have sharp eyes. What did you do on your boat? And, most importantly, what is your name? I'm Cueta - mariner on the Pegasus, among other boats." Slowing her pace so that the halfling can keep up, Cueta peers out into the darkness as they walk and talk.
Edmund Thayer puts a hand on Vallen's shoulder as the dwarf sets to work removing the chains from the dead ogre's neck.
"It can be hard to do what must be done," he says softly. "Have faith that your blade ... or hammer, I suppose, is guided by the Gods."
"অন্তত এখন আমরা আমাদের শত্রু সম্পর্কে কিছু শেখার ঝুঁকি থাকবে না," Manari sighs, and walks back towards Newspring.
The rest of the people assembled disperse, except for Sai, who is standing over one of the ghouls, her face set in a grim scowl.
"He was one of ours," she mutters, and walks to another. And another. "We bury them with our own," she says at last, her expression daring anyone to contradict her.
Vallen looks up as Edmund lays a hand on his shoulder, stopping for a moment. He looks down, and then back up at the man. "Yes... As Angradd said to Torag when he left the Iron Halls to battle Ssila’meshnik, the Colorless Lord, in a dispute over King Volkig's soul... "Today I will do what others won't, so tomorrow I can accomplish what others can't."
He nods slowly, feeling justified enough in his actions to continue talking to Edmund as he works. "Torag guides me now, Edmund. This iron will provide for tools that will lead to our prosperity, and armaments to protect us from our enemies."
The priest gathers the metal together, personally hauling it into a neat pile on the beach for transport to the forge once the area had been cleaned of the dead and the wounded have been treated.
He does not argue with Sai, but suggestions cremation instead of burying. "We can spread their ashes on our crops... Though we would have to wait until tomorrow for the rain to cease."
Istiel laughs aloud at Manari's comment, and follows her back to the village.
Sorala stands next to Sai, gazing down at the body of one of the sailors. "I'll get some of our people together in the morning to gather the bodies, and of course I'd love your help. Do you know what ship they came from, Sai? Or ships, perhaps?"
The historian trails off, lost in thought, looking at the body but not seeing it. "I agree with Vallen about cremation, but for a different reason. This is the second time this Gozreh our people have been brought back from their graves. Whatever is bringing our dead back should not have our loved ones to call upon. Ashes don't walk the earth."
With a long sigh, Gair struggles to his feet once more and moving to stand over one of the fallen ghouls. The kellid nods at Sorala's words, "Yes. This flesh is cursed. We can only hope that the spirits of these unfortunates found their way before this fate befell them. Burn them but I would return the ashes to the sea. Do not risk a taint on our food. They would not wish it..."
Casting his gaze around the beach, Gair approaches Vallen, his axe held out in both hands before him, "Would you place a light upon my axe? I would follow follow the tracks of our attackers before they are washed away. The cursed my well have crawled from the sea but the giant could not. It must have come from somewhere, I would know where."
Assuming the dwarf obliges, he then looks to Kal'Tos, "Would you come with me? Your eyes follow sign as well as mine and do better in the dark. But first, I admit these wounds still pain me. I would not face more of these creatures in this condition if I have a choice... "
As he waits for the abadaran priest to answer, Gair collects his undonned armour from where he dropped it when the ghouls arrived, shrugging into it with more than a few winces as the hard leather bites into partially healed wounds.
Before leaving with Gair, Kal'Tos uses his last channel. he then casts light on the Kellid's weapon.
Septimus slides up from the darkness beside Vada, "I see I am not the only Chelaxian not welcomed to inner circle despite stepping up for the community. It takes alaclavasgreat bravery to charge a feral ghoul with nothing but a mace."Vada sighs heavily. "I'm just a farmer, mate. But those things... they'd have killed us all if they had the chance. I... I don't want to die in this godsforsaken place."
"It is indeed amazing the strength the gods can grant when we need it, even if we don't conciously ask them for it. Hopefully we will all live long and happy livies in this new world, they will definately be longer if we all show as much courage as you."
Vallen obliges Gair's request without much thought- his mind was occupied on how to best re-temper the iron with their rudimentary equipment. Far in the distance, Cueta's light would suddenly wink out...
"Aye Gair, I was waiting for the other wounded to be gathered..."
When the wounded of the beach are gathered Vallen lifts his holy symbol high in the air, viscous waves of white energy pouring forth from the iron hammer.
The warrior's back straightens as the magic of the dwarves washes over him. Nodding to Kal'Tos, Gair fastens his gorget with far more fluid movements than the rest of his armor and sets off to backtrack the ogre's deep footprints in the wet sand. Holding his luminescent axe low to the ground, the hunter trots along beside the tracks.
With the dilemma presented by the ogre now behind them, Hassan seems much more at home. He calls out to halt those gathered as they begin dispersing, "Hold. This night has been trying but our work is not done. We need to gather all the fallen ghouls here with the ogre and set a watch on it and the beach itself. I don't trust either without eyes on them this night. They can be burnt with the dawn provided the weather has let up."
"Medeo, return to Newspring and choose a half dozen able bodies to assist with the retrieval. Return as soon as you are able. Thayer, I will need one of your men for the night. Choose one with the steadiest nerves he'll take watch over the beach with one of my own men till dawn."
"Tharn, find the goblins, question them and find me again. Ask if they know anything about undead or giant slaves...and find out where they were during all of this. I've not heard anything of them fighting with any of our defenders."
"Silverclasp, are you able to see to the iron yourself? It should be brought to your forge before the night is through. Who knows what scavengers might be lurking is this cursed rain."
Vada nods at Hassan's order. "Does anyone have a torch? I'm not even entirely sure how I managed to get here, in the first place."
"I'll stand watch," Edmund says to Hassan. He points to Eli. "You'll stand with me."
The rain has died off to a slow drizzle, allowing torches and so on to function, and in a few minutes there is plenty of light for everyone to see. The settlement is wide awake, with the non-combatants anciously awaiting news from the fighters who return.
Gair and Kal'Tos follow the ogre's tracks. A child could follow them through the wet sand, but they only lead back to the surf. It appears as if the creature did came out of the sea. [spoiler=Should anyone check...]The ogre is indeed wet with salt water, where the rain wouldn't have rinsed it away. It is definitely not an aquatic ogre of any sort, though.[/ooc]
"They were from the Harpy," Sai says. "They never made it to the cave, though. I think the storm caught them."
Vallen crosses his arms under his wet beard as Hassan speaks, issuing orders to the various denizens that remain on the beach.
He nods at the Keleshite, pleased that he is told to do what he was going to do anyway. "Aye Hassan, I can handle the iron. It's hard to slow a dwarf down, especially when he's motivated." The priest says with a smile, turning to go collect the chains and collar.
Vallen lashes the chains to the collar and hefts it with a grunt, steadily carrying his prize back to Newspring and towards the forge. The chains clink and tumble behind him as he walks and glances about nervously with his darkvision. The cleric is slightly paranoid that someone may mistake him for some kind of undead servant of Droskar, and a small part of him fears someone else may try to take the precious iron from him...
Zoriya blinks at Tomag's eye contact, then draws her hand back. She looks unsettled for a moment, perhaps almost girlish, before rearranging her wet hair and releasing her grip on him.
"Good, then." She straightens her tunic and looks down, then lifts her head again with significantly more calm efficiency. "Let's get back to camp. I am freezing and I haven't any shoes. You, I think, need to commune with your god."
"Thank you--oh!" Paaie blinks against the darkness as Cueta's light blinks out, then lets out a small, shivering sigh. "I'm Paaie Biseri, off the Lilliend. In the rigging, most part. I think if I walk first...I can feel out the path."
"Was that your sister back there?" She asks, pulling her ragged clothing tighter around her.
Tomag nods at the woman, his arms falling to his sides. "That, I do. Let's get moving," he says, carefully matching his step with Zoriya as they return to Newspring.
Cueta offers a sympathetic chuckle at Paaie's sigh. "Torag's favor doesn't seem to be with us tonight, Paaie." The Mwangi goes silent for a moment before answering Paaie's question, sadness apparent in the woman's voice. "Aye, she's my sister. She doesn't know that she's still a rabbit, but she is. Once you have the soul of a rabbit, you will always have the soul of a rabbit - I just have to show her it is there is all."
Continuing on, more warmth creeps into Cueta's voice. "The Lillend, eh? A fine ship - I was on her myself for a bit, after the Kraken attack. I'm sorry I don't remember you. I was down below mostly though. Carpenter's assistant. There's more of us you know - here at Newspring. Mariners I mean. Sai, the crazy woman with the torch on the beach, who stood up to the ogre? She was off the Harpy, and she's a good sailor. Walton Sandlock, he's not bad himself either. Deeshka, my friend and mother, she's no sailor, but she was a gully cook on the Pegasus, and a good one too. You should introduce yourself. Tomorrow, after Kyle's funeral, I fish. You're welcome to come."
---
Once at Newspring, Cueta takes a look at the anxious colonists and sighs, realizing that Paaie and herself are the first ones to appear, and that appearing without the others doesn't look good. Standing on a clearcut stump, the woman clears her throat and projects her voice, but her nerves get the best of her and her speech is rushed and quick, containing just the facts.
"There was an attack at the beach - many ghouls and an ogre. We held the beach and lost Kyle. Zik was gravely wounded as well, but Ingwe, Vallen and Kal'Tos were tending to him when I left. We killed at least ten, I'd wager, plus the ogre. Kyle's funeral will be in the morning."
Stepping off the stump, Cueta bids farewell to Paaie and goes about looking for Eli. When news later comes that the young man is watching the beach, Cueta goes and gets her backpack and cookpot, some cups, and fills her waterskin from the spring. Taking a stone axe, she makes her way back down the trail again, stopping to hack the bark from a birch tree. At the beach, the Mwangi goes about setting up a small fire, and filling her cookpot with spring water and bark, sets about making a tea for the watchmen. Sitting next to Eli, she hands the guard a cup of water steeped in bark, and quietly watches the surf for threats.
Sorala accompanies Vada back up to Newspring. She walks silently for awhile, lost in thought, and when she speaks, it is quiet but sure, as if she's reached a some sort of conclusion. "You're a woodsman and farmer, correct? I need your help with something. Back home, at university, there was a mushroom that was very popular on campus - the Flyview mushroom. Have you heard of it? You would dry it over smoke and the smoke, after a few hours, activated a chemical in the Flyview that was mildly mind-altering. It is called a Flyview because some people claim to gain a perspective from above their corporal bodies. I never did, but that is neither here nor there."
"What I need, Vada, is some sort of mind-altering substance. It doesn't have to be Flyview, just something to kilter my perceptions. Next time your out in the woods, could you keep an eye out? I'm creating things around Newspring for favors. I could perhaps wrangle up some workers for a project for yourself, or I could make you an alchemical item of some sort, if you do this for me?"
Vada looks at the half-elf crossways, his brows furrowing. "Can't say I've heard of somethin' like that, but I can see what comes up next time I'm in the forest," he agrees. "In the meantime, I just want to get back to Newspring and my sleep."
Sorala smiles, thin and tight, the grin barely reaching her tired eyes. "I thank you for your help. I hope you sleep well tonight."
Back at Newspring, the historian looks for the goblins, checking first the forge, and if they aren't there, asking around.
Sorala finds the forge quiet, but the hobgoblins emerge from their hiding places as she approaches. They see her and hesitate for a moment before they set their weapons aside.
"Drafferth?" Blaidd says, looking at her with something like concern.
Sorala grimaces slightly when the goblins emerge from their hiding places, but tries to mask any displeasure. "No trouble now. Enemies attack from beach. We kill all them, send them to hells. We lose one, they lose 15 as many. They no attack us soon, we sure. You know these creatures? Our dead back walking. Claws freeze us, bites makes us sick. We call ghouls. And, small giant with ghouls maybe slave is. Chained. Swing tree like toy. Look like large dwarf with tusk. Great fighter, our general lay it low."
Sighing, Sorala looks at the ground and then back to Blaidd, holding his gaze. "In morning, funeral. You all come, see how we goodbye to warriors."
Blaidd looks at the others and it seems that they all understand the significance of what happened.
"Elves," Rhyfelwr says.
Blaidd nods. "The black birds give them power over the undead, and it is easy make slaves of giants. They are strong, but their minds are weak."
"It is the elves' way to send their minions to test their enemy. They are searching for weaknesses." Rhyfelwr explains. "They will not show themselves yet."
"Will we be safe here?" Sharpeyes asks him.
He shrugs. "They will have seen what happened. They will return in time. I cannot say when, or with what."
The next day dawns only a few hours after the battle at the beach. The rain has stopped, but a heavy mist drifts through the village from the ocean. Sound travels strangely through the fog and it is hard to recognize individuals until they are nearly on top of you. While it is a perfectly natural phenomena, it adds to the already tense mood, and people go about their work furtively, as if expecting another disaster to strike at any moment.
Sorala frowns as the hobgoblins speak, her brow furrowed in thought. "Elves. How many elves? You see home of elves? Where? How elves get to beach? They have large canoes, like dwarves? Elves and dwarves friends or foes?"
"They send our dead against us, will pay for - how you say - bad thing happen to our people. We mighty warriors only weakness food. Once gardens built and bellies were full, we raise more warriors, build large canoes, bring more warriors from land across waters. Kill elves, put them into tales only not this world. Good thing you are friends - goblins will have much land for sons and daughters to roam once elves are dead."
Looking to Sharpeyes, Sorala holds the woman's gaze, long and with a fiery intensity. "Know this. You safe here. Me. I'm serious as the point of spear."
Day 25
Vallen wakes from a strange, dreamless sleep to find the sun dimmed by the heavy fog that covers the village. He rubs his eyes and sits up with a sigh, clenching sore muscles from the previous night's exertions. Taking a few moments to groom his beard and hair back into an acceptable state with a set of brushes, combs, and an array of small scissors, he is already feeling better after seeing his clean and orderly visage in his silvered mirror.
The priest holds his usual morning prayers with Jarla, Gaross, and Horn'tos, preparing his spells for the day. He informs them the forge will soon be completed, and both his ceremonial anvil and their worship sessions will be moved to the forge once it is ready.
Prior to the morning funeral, Vallen makes his way to forge in order to check on the hobgoblins and the iron. Touching his holy symbol, he asks a prayer of Grundinnar to help him better understand their new allies.
They will likely be skeptical of Torag's power... speak carefully, now.
"Haul yn codi da. Niwl well na glaw ... llawer gwell ... Rydym yn cynnal angladd ar gyfer gostwng o frwydr nawr. Ar ôl goelcerth, gofynnwch wirfoddolwyr i fynd i'r Blaidd." The dwarf beckons for Sharpeyes, Gwenci, and Rhyfelwr to approach as he takes a handful of nuts and berries from a pouch. "Rydych tri arhosiad ... Bydd Pŵer Torag bwydo. Mae'r cnau Ni fydd blessed- yn llwglyd, llenwi bol. Ddim yn gorfodi i eat- ond os na, dim ond cael hanner fwyd. Cnau, neu newyn. Gallai Wish fwydo yr holl ffordd hon, ond mae fy pwerau yn cael terfyn" His hands pass over the food as he says a prayer, offering it to the hobgoblins.
Day 25
Istiel stirs from her meditation bright and early, seemingly unfazed by the fog. She finds Gair before the funeral and meeting, approaching him with a small smile. "Gair. Good morning. You are staying in the village, correct? We should hunt together, or spar today." She looks about at the forest surrounding them, eyes impassive. "I almost became one of Desna's stars earlier. I was not good enough. I wish to train, learn from you- fight as you do, with ferocity and strength. Pass through the forest and speak to the creatures, as you do."
She turns back to him, the small smile re-appearing on her lips. "No one can match you here. One day, no one will match us." She leaves the last part open to interpretation.
Kal'Tos begins his day with sparing practice with Bern and several others. The sweeping and slashing motions from the axe not as familiar as the crushing blows delivered by a hammer yet half-remembered from his training years ago.
Once the service is done, he spends the rest of the day preparing to begin surface mining, explaining the process to those that are interested.
Septimus spends the day after the ceremony checking with people to make sure they are okay after the ghoul attack, ensuring that disease won't spread as a result of the attack and building his influence at the same time.
Sorala spends the rest of the night scribing the events of the last few hours. It is slow going - she builds a small campfire to dry her parchment, and even then the ink has trouble taking in the misty, humid air. The woman's hands shake in the cold, and she has to stop often to recreate her memories, many of which were lost to terror.
Truly spent as the sun rises, the historian makes her way to the halflings for a quick and meager breakfast, and then down to the beach for the funeral.
Along the way and well into the day, she asks any foragers or woodsmen that she sees to bring her any herbs they can find that will help open her senses to the hidden world around them all.
The birchbark tea clears Cueta's mind, and by morning she's calmer, if no less troubled by her compatriot's comments. This place may be making me cruel, but it is because I am a mother of Newspring. I will do what others cannot.
When dawn breaks, the light coming over the horizon making it apparent that no immediate threat exists, Cueta bids the guards goodbye and heads towards Newspring once again, grabbing a quick breakfast her carpenter's tools before heading back to the beach.
Removing her handsaw from her kit, Cueta kneels at the ogre's corpse and begins taking it apart - first the head, then the arms, then the legs, separated neatly from the creature's torso. The warrior drags the pieces over to a boat and loads them in, and responds to any questions or stares in a harsh, clipped voice. "Does it deserve our funeral rights? In pieces, it won't come back. The parts go into bay when I fish later, baubles for Besmara's chest."
After dismembering the ogre, already feeling better, the Mwangi helps put the sailors' corpses into a funeral pyre and then heads to assist with the preparation of Kyle's body - not cursed, his ashes will be spread over the gardens, to grow the sons and daughters of Newspring. Cueta smiles at the thought.
Tomag wakes with the dawn, even though the events of the previous night stole a good amount of his sleep. Groggily lifting himself off his makeshift mattress, the Sarenraen gets right to his morning prayer. He spends longer than usual on this morning, frustration still clear in his mind at his inability to save the ogre, and to convince his new companions.
Once he has finished his prayer, he eats a simple breakfast and goes to help with both the cremating of the sailors and Kyle's funeral. The murky fog does little to improve the half-orc's mood, but the memory of last night's discussion with Zoriya allows him to at least maintain a semblance of his usual grin. "Everlight help me," he mutters a few times that morning, "I may not have the Sun today, but the Moon is beautiful." Tomag ignores the strange looks he receives from others and continues to help where he is needed.
Once the service is done, Septimus finds Vallen. "Good day Vallen, is it possible for you to make me a mace? If we are to continue facing the evils of this land I would prefer to do it with something other than a staff."
"We prefer steel," Gwenci smirks, and though Blaidd rolls his eyes, he smiles as well.
"Many elves. Many hundreds, maybe thousands? On the big river in the west. Farther than I have been." Rhyfelwr is the only one who isn't amused by Sorala as the tip of the spear. He sounds positively grim. "They come in ships, not like the dwarves' ships with oars, but under sail. They are enemies of everything that we know of. Maybe the dwarves, too?"
Vallen wakes and feeds the hobgoblins, who smile and accept the nuts that he gives them.
"Mae'n drueni na allwch chi fwydo eich holl bobl y ffordd hon," Gwenci says, appreciatively. "er bod yna efallai y byddwch erioed wedi dod o hyd ein llwyth."
==========
A little past dawn, the pyres are lit, one for Kyle, the other for the ghouls. Sai watches the ghouls fire, and as the bodies are thrown on, she names each one.
Most of Newspring watches Kyle's pyre burn. He was a loud, obnoxious boy, not too well liked, but he was one of them, and they mourn his loss and praise his sacrifice.
"Kyle was a good friend," Bern says, speaking as the only one who really called him friend. "He was a brave man, who came here to start a new life as a farmer, but was forced by this place to become a warrior." He sighs, and then lifts Kyle's battle axe. "He died fighting, wielding this weapon. He has no son to take it in his place, but we are all his family now." His eye falls on Vada. "Someone should take it. I will keep it until that someone claims it."
The other young warriors welcome Bern back into their midst when he is finished. Sandra Thayer begins a song that brings tears to your eyes, and then asks if there is anyone else who wishes to speak.
Vallen is surprised at the lack of sarcasm in Gwenci's voice, just smiling at the hobgoblins. It's fortunate they trust me.. we're all going to have to trust one another to make it through this. He then beckons them to follow him to the funeral.
=====
Vallen stands with Jarla and the dwarves on his left, and the hobgoblins on his right, hands folded beneath his beard. He glances between the two parties. Strange to see Dwarves and hobgoblins standing near each other... A strange time I live in.
Tears well up in the dwarf's eyes as Sandra sings a beautiful. mournful song, reminding him of the deep, sorrowful hymns that used to echo down the massive halls of the Forge of Torag. He wipes the moisture away from his eyes at it forms, preventing it from falling into his moustache.
When Sandra asks if anyone else has something to say, the dwarf inhales slowly. I should be a pillar of the community, encourage everyone... promote trust and love of your neighbor.. This is the role of a priest of Torag. He touches his holy symbol, murmuring a prayer to Grundinnar.
Clearing his throat, the grey-robed priest steps in front of the crowd with Sandra, turning to face the crowd. He wishes he had somewhere to put his hands... they tend to fidget when he speaks. He decides to wraps his hand behind he back, standing up straight. "This morning we have sent off Kyle and the other members of the Harpy that were cruelly taken from us. Their ashes will nurture our food, and they shall live on by fueling our continued success in Newspring."
He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before looking up. His icey blue eyes meet those in the front rows of the gathering. "A council meeting shall soon follow, where we will discuss a matter important to our knowledge of this world and continued alliance with the Broken Skull Valley. We seek two volunteers from among our number to return with Elder Blaidd to the hobgoblin village in an effort to better understand their civilization and way of life. In return, three hobgolins will be staying with us. Gwenci, Sharpeyes, and Rhyfelwr. Sharpeyes is to become my apprentice, and learn the ways of the Forge."
Vallen begins to wave his hands about, describing the scene he witnessed. "I ask all of you to consider volunteering. I have personally visited Broken Skull Valley, and saw houses set in the hillside, with hobgoblins tending fields and their hunters leaving to hunt goats on the hillside... and whiskey... with potency that rivals anything I have tasted, brew that made Kal'tos and I think of drink our clans have made for special, 100-year events." He sighs softly, and trails off, realizing he was rambling about booze. "Uh... That's all I have to say. We will discuss the matter more during the council meeting. Thank you." He bows his head sheepishly, hustling back to the dwarves.
Sorala gives the goblins a nod. "Thank you talk. Its good know what Newspring up for. My talk sounds crazy now, but I know in future it will not be so - crazy talking."
The historian turns to leave, and then pausing, speaks to the hobgoblins again. "One thing more. I, take, no, I want open third eye. Know this? Its way of seeing world different. Use herbs or mushrooms or some people alchohol, not me. Know plants that help me open third eye?"
-------
After Vallen speaks at the funeral, Sorala steps forward and clears her throat, holding the Garrack statue up to signal her intention to speak. "I know that what Vallen asks is a lot, but this is crucially important to everyone here. The volunteers should be quick to learn, because there is much to know about this New World. Among many other things, the volunteers should learn our new friends' language. The volunteers should learn how they hunt the goats on their hills - we would like to capture some and raise them here, if possible. They should learn how they ferment their grain, and learn from the goblins as much as possible about the geography, flora and fauna of their lands, and how the goblins use them."
"This request - I should also add, is not a death sentence, but a tremendous opportunity. As Vallen says, they have shelter, and food, and alcohol, and more warriors than us. More than likely, those that go will be the safest of all of us, the most well-fed, and the driest. I would go myself, happily, but I am needed here to teach the goblins' tongue."
--------
After the funeral, Sorala fetches her writing materials and makes notes of Kyle's funeral, and asks Sai for the names of the Harpy's sailors, so that they are not forgotten either.
Cueta stands next to Sai during the funeral, and listens gravely to the names of the soldiers as they are spoken, trying to recall if she knew any of them, perhaps from the Pegasus before they ended up on the Harpy, or from the Shackles before that.
After Sorala speaks, the Mwangi goes and stands next to the historian. "I would add one thing. They have many warriors, more than we do. I would ask that none of our warriors go north with the goblins. You are needed here."
Cueta finshes the last bit of her thought wordlessly. Especially you, rabbit.
Blaidd smiles at her question. Gwenci watches carefully, but it is Sharpeyes who speaks.
"We will speak of this later," she says, glancing at the other hobgoblins. "It is not for their ears."
As the players call for volunteers, a murmur goes through the camp. A few people look angry, but most are simply afraid. The first to step forward is Elisa Kralish, and a moment later, Melilla steps forward as well.
Vallen looks at Elisa and Melilla with concern for a few moemnts, but the expression passes from his face. Those two have endured much. The safety of the Broken Skull Valley would be good for their nerves. I must be truthful with Blaidd about their condition, however. The blonde-bearded dwarf nods to himself.
As her sister steps forward, Cueta blushes first with anger, and then with alarm. Her mouth opens to say the first thing that comes to mind, which is, Uh-uh. No. No F%##ing way, but another thought comes unbidden into the woman's mind, one that has been circling her subconscious for awhile now. She really is no rabbit anymore. Your sister as you knew her is truly gone. She is the strong one, not you.. Face hot with anger and eyes filled with tears of grief, Cueta walks to her sister and drops to her knees, grasping her sister's hands and looking into Melilla's eyes.
"Nwanna, ị na-ekwu okwu dị ka ma ọ bụrụ na ị bụ onye na oke bekee ọzọ, kama a ọdụm, ma ọ bụ dị ka Thayer kwuru, sị, a boar. M na-ahụ na nke a bụ eziokwu. M na-ahụ na ụzọ gị abụghị ihe m chọrọ - ụlọ na di na abụba ụmụ tugging gị uwe. Ma ọ bụrụ na ị na-ekpe ma ọ bụ a boar, ị ga-anọ Newspring. Anyị kwesịrị dike ebe a na-anyị ndị dị mma. Na nwanne nwanyị, ga-amasị m ịhụ gị ahapụ dị ka nke ọma. Ga-amasị m inweta afọ na anyị tụfuru mgbe m hapụrụ unu, n'ihi na m bụ na-adịghị ike. Na m ka na-adịghị ike. Gị nchekwa na gị ga-eme n'ọdịnihu bụ ihe m dị ndụ, n'ihi na m na-ajụ gị ka ị nọrọ, ọbụna ma ọ bụrụ na m maara ọdụm ihe ọ chọrọ."
Melilla listens to Cueta, her jaw clenched, and then she closes her eyes and lets out a sigh.
"Very well," she says, putting a hand on Elisa's arm and shaking her head. "We will stay."
There is some muttering as the two women step back.
"Lion, rabbit, boar," Ingwe Obuti says, laughing. "We are told much of how safe and comfortable those who go with the hobgoblins will be, but when the family of one of our council volunteers to go, see what happens?"
The muttering grows louder. The hobgoblins watch with interest, and Gwenci appears to be able to follow at least the gist of what's being said, as he translates to Blaidd.
Kal'Tos quietly moves beside Cueta and whispers to her "You must let them go to the Hobgoblin village Cueta. They will be safe there, perhaps even safer than here. I am sure you will be able to travel there often in the days ahead. "
Vallen's lips disappear behind his mustache as they thin out, shaking his head. He grimaces slightly at Ingwe's comment, fearing the instability he is sowing. I don't understand... wouldn't Cueta want her sister to be safe? The priest also moves beside Cueta, now flanking her with Kal'tos. "Cueta... I know she's your sister, but her and Melilla are first to volunteer. They want to go. Blaidd will ensure their safety, we can trust him.
For the second time in twelve hours, Cueta is rendered speechless, as she kneels at her sister's feet, a pose of complete submission. "Th-thank you," is all she can utter, in her own tongue. Wiping tears from her eyes, the Mwangi slowly becomes aware of the ruckus around her as the world comes back to focus; the derision of Ingwe, the alarm of the dwarven priests. Dragging her arm along her eyes and nose, the woman wobbles to her feet, unsteady, as if she were drunk. Steadying herself, Cueta looks around at the gathering, the implications of Ingwe's words setting in. Face flushing with anger, ready to let insults fly, the Mwangi instead takes a deep breath and searches for the appropriate response to the situation. Think, girl! What would Kralish have done, back at her manse, when spit at by a donkey?
Adopting the traditional Chelish debating style, back straight, lots of eye contact, palms up, Cueta moves around the gathering as she talks. "Friends, neighbors, Newspringers. The esteemed Mr. Obuti spends much of his time frolicking with his spirits. Perhaps if he spent more time among you, he would know that I am not a council member. I am simply a sailor, freedwoman and woodsman, who has, due to our extraordinary circumstances, had to take extraordinary steps this last month - as we all have."
Finding herself standing near Deeshka, Cueta rests her hand lightly on the nape of the halfling's neck. "I know that I have spent more time away from Newspring than here since our landing in this New World. Perhaps many of you don't know me. Believe, me, I'd rather be here, with my loved ones. Instead, I helped some of us..." here, Cueta holds her hand out palm up, in the direction of those she names, and begins walking again. "Council members and not - Gair, the Sandlocks Walton and Ben, Kyle, Bern, our esteemed Dwarven priests, Edmund, Manari, Sai and Jaysin - end the Kuru menace to our people. I mapped the safe area that our foragers go to and return with food for our bellies, and I will go out again soon to find more safe territory for our people. Sai, Walton and I steered the boats to and from Harpy Beach and I helped rescue some of us from the cave near there, and rescued others of us, including my sister, from the Portress. Last night I killed two ghouls on the beach and dealt the ogre a grievous blow before our valiant general ended its life. I have seen the Goblins' lands, and they are indeed safe. They have caves to hide in and food to eat. Everything that the Priest Silverclasp says is true - every last word. Have you ever known the priest to lie? He speaks the truth, even when it is unpleasant to the ears. I know this from personal experience."
Cueta ends standing next to Ingwe. "My people, and Mr. Obuti knows this, believe that words have power. Once you speak them, you put them out in the world for all to know. The words I spoke to my sister just now - I will tell you what I said to her and why I said it. Mr. Obuti has twisted my words - I cannot say why, for I possess not his brain, nor his heart. I know that Ingwe ministers to some of you, and he is an important member of this community. But the the words he spoke were twisted things, dark translations of what I spoke to my sister. What I said to my sister was this: I want her to stay here with me. I need her to stay here with me. I abandoned her ten years ago and to find her there at Portress was - could only be - intended to happen, for some reason, be it the fates, or the gods, or the spirits. I need time with her, to atone for my sins. To have her back after all these years, only to lose her again would crack me, like a hammer to crab's carcass."
"I said it earlier and it bears repeating: Melilla is a warrior. To hear Edmund say it, she fights like a boar. I know that last night she took on some ghouls with no armor and a dagger. If she goes north, Newpsring loses two warriors - one to the goblins to the north, and one to madness and grief. I said this earlier as well: the goblins don't need warriors and we do."
Moving behind Ingwe as she finishes, Cueta whispers low into his ear, "M na-ahụ gị ire n'ahụ, Ingwe agwọ-na-na-na-ata."
Vallen looks quite surprised as Cueta suddenly springs forward and begins talking like a great orator, similar to those he had witnessed debating doctrine at Torag's Forge many months ago. His mind flashes back to the raised pedestals facing each other, two white-haired dwarves in their grey robes and simple yet prestigious rings covering every finger, filling their beards, and even weighing down their ears in honors and stories of their accomplishments.
They take turns fiercely debating the merits of family and the greater good, quoting texts and great dwarven philosophers, pulling anecdotes from their long lives and the rich history of their people. Traditional wisdom passed down says to put the clan before the race of dwarves as a whole, while simultaneously saying that individual family members should sacrifice themselves for the good of the clan. If the dwarves were ever to be re-united under one king, would the clans act as individuals, and sacrifice for the good of all? What is more holy in the eyes of Torag...?
He shakes himself out of recalling the great debate as Cueta whispers something to Ingwe in her strange clicking language. Breathing in deeply, he speaks up.
"Well... well said, Cueta. I doubt anyone here questions your motivations or your commitment to Newspring. I for one have witnessed firsthand the contributions you have made to our community, and support your decision to keep the ranks of our warriors strong."
Clearing his throat, he moves back to the front of the group, blue eyes scanning over the crowd. He looks for the worshiper of Cayden Caelean from nearly a month ago, that gave a passionate speech on building a still...
"Are there any others who wish to volunteer? Please step forward. Any exposure to the goblinoid language is a benefit."