“You might want to spend more time looking up, man. A dragon flew high over Clearwater and the lake when I was a young lad, ten years past.”
"Yes. Obsid and his clan promised us as slaves to the hill giants and we did not take kindly to the idea. The Fjerntblik wanted to rule the vale. From the marshes to the west river, probably furth-" Firko Ent halts when Quick interrupts, "What? Oh, how? Um... The story goes, he was on a quest to find a magical gem. At the moment of nearly finding it, a fire-breathing dragon flew in to claim the treasure. And so they fought, magic against magic and steel against tooth and claw. In the end, Eor Pettiking tricked his adversary with an illusion. The dragon’s misstep cost her life when Eor made a killing blow. The storytellers and scribes might know the tale better, but that is all I remember at the moment."
“Now, if you are not going to help me, at the very least, send word to the Ents of Clearwater and the Unburnt of the happenings here! Obsid is no longer contained!”
"Next thing you'll say is that there's dragon worshippers up in the mountains," Henry Southgard says with a rueful smile. He mounts his horse and gives the foggy field a long look.
"It's a beautiful morning. Rest well. We cannot tarry further, but we'll send for help when we can."
Quick's head snaps to Henry, about to protest, but he clamps his mouth closed realizing that the mercenary is right.
Quick lowers his voice so only Ajaxx could hear. "He's a spirit. You can't get him. He's confused and could turn aggressive. We should be off. Our mission depends on speed."
“It’s a cold morning,” Firko Ent replies to Henry. “Ride swiftly, ride safe.”
Vylyra’s horse chuffs anxiously as she mounts up. Before long the four travellers are on their horses and back on the road to Thaleniel. Thick fog hems in the horizon, limiting how far ahead the messengers can see. They pass a handful of people on foot.
Four hours pass and in that time the riders pass dozens more travelers, grouped in no less than five, no more than fourteen. Since their last stop, a patrol of cavalry trot southwards on the road, watchful of the foggy slopes. More than once, Quick receives a scrutinizing eye from travellers and soldiers alike. But the four messengers continue in peace. The morning fog fails to break as the sun rises to high noon, and the overcast above sheds a soft pale light on the vale below. Mile by mile, the highway slowly bends westward, following the curve of the lakeshore.
Presently, Ajaxx, Henry, Vylyra, and Quick follow the wide road. Though the packed earth is well traveled, they had not seen any others for the past hour or so, marking the longest stretch of time from seeing another person. Visibility is much better than this morning, though the mist still curtains rolling green hills punctuated by clusters of trees. A smaller road leads east from the highway, and the observant can see in that general direction a towering stone windmill a considerable distance from the road. Its great wooden arms are unmoving in the still autumn air from where it stands on a green hill.
The road is bordered by dense shrubs on one side. Seldom birdsong pierces the misty quiet, as the lake gently surges against the gravel on the other side and hooves stamp into the dense damp dirt.
One of the bird calls heard is of the violet-green swallow. The tiny, colorful bird is native to the area, but are normally only seen in this area in the spring and summer. They typically fly south during the colder months. Their distinct trill is a little unexpected for this time of year.
"Look! A mill stower. I wish there had been one nearby growing up. Grinding one's own corn meal is tiring."
Looking up for his crochet, Ajaxx snorts, "But it makes you strong." He straightens and looks around taking in is surroundings.
At least it's been a nice ride so far, not much to be concerned about, Vylyra thinks to herself.
Henry Southgard saves a hard look for the soldiers and travellers who have a hard look at Quick. A life of mercenary work meant fighting all manner of races alongside anyone who could earn a salary. Humans, Elves, Orcs, Dwarven Half-Ogres, anyone. Even if Henry nurtured a quiet contempt for certain races, he'd long since learned to judge individuals as individuals.
Then again, his hometown had never been sacked by Orcs.
"A mill frees up boys to do other tasks that build strength, and keeps them well fed too." Henry Southgard says.
The cool afternoon quiet is broken from a sudden whispered command from the bushes to the right of the travellers. “Now!”
The bushes suddenly stir with two rough figures cloaked in moss and dirty furs! Greenish grey skin, big protruding teeth, dark and savage warpaint, and heavy brutish weapons rise from their hiding places in the foliage. Two more spring up from the roadside shrubs, all four orcs looking fierce and eager to spill blood!
“We are orcs!” howls the biggest orc, brandishing a ragged falchion.
“Yer silver or yer lives!”
“Drop yer gold an’ jewels an’ maybe we won’t eatcha!” shrieks a third, perhaps the shortest but most fiercely painted orc.
The small orc making cannibalistic threats has tusks that wiggle with each word. The tusks seem so unstable that they might fall off at any moment. What is more, the areas of his skin not covered in warpaint don’t seem very ...orcish in color.
The biggest one is lying. None of these highwaymen are orcs.
The defenders of Redstone seize the initiative before the four savages can charge them!
Quick waves his hand and a bright blue ice covers his flesh, strong as armor.
"Ek is ook 'n Orc as jy duidelik kan sien. En dat 'n mens" Quick points at the small one. "sal nie eet iemand sonder sy tande breek. Kom ons slaag of ons sal sien wat van ons stamme vandag oorleef."
Quick draws his sword and stares down the would be attackers.
"I too am an Orc as you can plainly see. And that one" Quick points at the small one. "won't be eating anyone without his tusks breaking. Now let us pass or we shall see which of our clans survives this day."
Vylyra swiftly unsheathes her falchion and slides down off of her horse.
She readies to slice the nearest foe who attacks her.
Hopping off his horse Ajaxx, saunters over to Vylyra's horse and pulls out one of the healing potions from her saddle bag. Stepping back toward his horse Ajaxx tips the vile back as the orcs make their demands. With his crochet in his hand he holds up a finger indicating that the highwaymen should wait until he is done.
Ajaxx burps and excuses himself. "Gold and silver you say. Well let me obliged. It's just here in the saddle bags." he says with a grin.
Ajaxx intended to get his weapons and fight these men and is looking forward to it.
"This is the problem with Orcish scouts," Henry Southgard mutters as he draws his crossbow and loads it. "They'll turn to banditry at the drop of a purse. Worse than nomadic barbarians, most of them.
The four glance at each other as they hear the orcish tongue, and do not seem to understand it. But then the big orc scoffs at Ajaxx’s claim and the others follow suit. The small orc blinks uncertainly from Quick’s stare down. But when Quick’s companions ready for a fight rather than empty their pockets, the biggest orc bellows, “Knock ‘im off his horse! Gold from a corpse is still gold!”
The three other orcs rush forward, lifting large wooden clubs studded with rocks and nailheads. One of them charges Ajaxx, whose hands are on his saddlebags but does not yet have any shield or weapons to bear.
The swing harmlessly grazes the pit fighter’s armor, but the sudden violence startles his horse! Ajaxx’s mount rears and bolts away from the battle with a frightened whinney.
Two, the small orc and one other, charge Quick. One tries to use his greatclub to push Quick off his mount, while the small one, shaken, merely tries to throw the half-orc off balance in his saddle.
A heavy bludgeon makes contact with Quick's gut, and while it does not hurt him, the young mage feels the impact lift him off his seat!
The half-orc’s mount shakes itself free and gallops down the road in fear for its life, and Vylyra’s horse, who stands nearby, is spooked by the combat and follows.
The end of his heavy falchion blade drags in the dirt as the leader of this orc band slowly advances. He holds a menacing look to the young half-orc on the ground. “Listen, welp. Your gold is mine. Whether you keep your head is up to you…” Muscled arms heft his notched blade meaningfully.
Vylyra braces for when the orcish thugs make their charge, but none of them assail her. Despite her focus on the melee, her keen senses catch something very small and extremely fast in the corner of her eye. The half-elf realizes the shape of it just a few feet away: an arrow, and it is too late to dodge. The wood shaft pierces her leg. She knows that it came from the east, but there no archer is plainly visible.
A dark bump protrudes from the windmill’s pointed rooftop. It vaguely resembles a crouched figure, cloaked to blend in with the weathered wooden shingles. Faraway arms work to draw another arrow.
Seeing that his horse hasn't gone too far away Ajaxx looks to the orc in front of him. "My good sir you seem to have frightened my horse and you almost hit me with that. I'm not sure you can be trusted with such a dangerous implement." Reaching down to his hip he will in one motion flick up his flail at the man's wrist where he holds his club.
As the ball wraps around the mans wrist Ajaxx pulls hard attempting to wrench the weapon free. As he does this he is sure to keep his crochet project tucked under his arm.
Henry Southgard hears Vylyra cry out and looks around for the archer. He sees plenty of vantage points, but no sharpshooter. Instead, he takes aim at the 'Orc' scurrying around to flank Quick.
The bolt skips off the boiled leather armor of the first Orc, nicks the club of the second, and zips off into the bushes. Cringing, Henry reloads his crossbow and spurs his horse after Vylyra's and Quick's steeds.
"Oomph!" Quick goes down and rolls to keep from hurting himself and only barely avoids slicing his leg with his large blade.
Quick draws into himself, focusing on the rainbow hues of Apsu's scales in the northern lights. "Lokluvfahin!"
A multicolored mist sprays out from the young orc's hand seeking to confound his foes.
Wincing from the pain, Vylyra drops her falchion, and moves towards the archer while making her way around the orc to avoid any of his attacks. As she moves she pulls her longbow out, knocks an arrow, and let's loose hoping to hit her assailant. She knows it will be difficult to hit her target at this range.
The orc directly in front of Quick gets the worst of his spell, and goes reeling backward, landing flat on his back and unconscious. The biggest one drops his falchion in the road and holds a shocked expression, momentarily stunned by the confusing colors. The small one, due to a lucky blink, sneers at the half-orc on the ground.
“Magic! That’ll git you a beatin’!” He raises his greatclub high over his head.
The big wooden weapon bashes Quick’s side from where he lays on the road.
The only other orc on the road stares wide-eyed at the greatclub twisted out of his grip. Once more sizing up the big well-armored and well-armed man before him, the orc springs away and chases after Ajaxx’s horse. Narrowly passing beyond Vylyra’s reach, he catches up to the horse with his arms out, getting ready to take hold of the saddle and pull himself up.
Another arrow whistles through the cool autumn air!
Even though he lies flat, Quick feels a sharp stab in his hindquarters! The pain still fresh in his mind, the young mage suddenly feels rather woozy.
Already on alert from the first arrow, tracing the second shot is no difficulty. A crouched and cloaked figure is scarcely discernible from the dark shingles of the pointed rooftop of the windmill. The long stick the figure holds must be a longbow!
In a booming voice Ajaxx declares, "You aren't going to want to do that!!" Then he lowers his head and runs to catch up to the frightened orc. As he catches up he presents the boy with two options, "You have lost there guy. You can either do it gracefuly and leave my house or I can beat you to death."
Quick gasps in pain and surprise. I cannot die here. It is not my destiny.
Suddenly, the young half-Orc roars in fury and starts to rise, but his scream turns to coughing, then he lay still: eyes closed.
Henry Southgard sees Quick fall at the feet of the Orc. Before the bandit could press the assault, Henry takes aim and fires.
Not pausing to see the hit, he snatches the saddlebags from Vylyra's horse and spurs his horse into action.
Emboldened by the fallen foe, the smaller orc flinches away from the crossbow bolt and turns to face the charging horse. Just before they collide, he heaves the heavy club upward at the mount.
The bludgeon smacks the horse's meaty neck and the impact is enough to deflect some of the momentum away from the small orc and he manages to hold his ground. He sneers defiantly at the crossbowman.
Vylyra briefly glances back at Quick seeing him fall and hopes for the best. She then continues to move forward towards the archer with determination stopping behind her ally to fire a shot once again in his direction. She crouches next to the nearest shrubbery hoping for some cover from future arrow fire.
The arrow in his rump will need to be removed, but other than that, the experienced ranger thinks the young half-orc will pull through. He might need to rest to make a full recovery.
The biggest orc does not even blink as Henry goes charging past. Slack-jawed, he continues to stare blankly ahead.
The orc pays the mercenary little heed as he pulls himself up onto the big man’s horse.
“Yah!” With orcish heels digging into the flanks, the horse gallops away with Ajaxx’s shield strapped to the saddlebags. The horse-thief wheels the horse around and makes for the windmill.
“Sam! Pull yerself together!” shouts the small orc, after an annoyed glance to the biggest orc. He throws himself at the mounted mercenary, big club aloft.
The studded wood weapon glances off Henry’s breastplate.
An arrow whizzes a foot over Vylyra's head, thudding into the thick grass behind her.
His face turning red and he begins to spit as he yells at the man, "YOU HAVE SEALED YOUR FATE!!!" As the man swings his leg up and over the horse Ajaxx swings his flail at the man's leg attempting to pull him to the ground.
Grabbing the reins with one hand Ajaxx begins swinging at the man on the ground and screaming the the man on the ground "THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TRY TO F#*@ A STRANGER IN THE ASS!!" As he does so he begins to swing at him.
With a snarl, Henry Southgard reloads his crossbow, aims, and fires at the nearby Orc.
Satisfied that Quick should be fine if he takes no further damage, Vylyra proceeds closer to the archer and then fires again in hopes that she might finally hit her target.
The small orc sees the mercenary reload and lifts his club high over his head. It opens up his chest as a perfect target, and a second later bolt fletching sprouts from his torso. But he brings the heavy club down onto Henry’s shoulder nonetheless.
Blinking down at his serious wound, the small orc grits his teeth and heaves the bludgeon upward, right at Henry’s family heirloom.
The crossbowman barely manages to keep hold of his weapon.
Sam, the biggest orc, blinks a few times, his dazed expression slowly taking in the battle around him. His detached gaze regards the mounted crossbowman right in front of him with mild confusion.
The horse thief falls as he gets pulled from the horse, and lands on his shoulder at an angle that looks very painful. He cries out as Ajaxx angrily slams the ground near his head. Rolling his back to the ground, he pulls back a boot and aims right below Ajaxx’s belt.
Trusting in his heavy armor, Ajaxx the Wall doesn’t flinch, only to realize the kick stopped a few inches away in an attempt to throw him off-balance. The dirty fighter rolls again and tries to scurry on his belly into the thick foliage nearby.
Vylyra’s arrow misses again, and is answered by another arrow from the top of the windmill.
She twitches at the last second, and the shot glances off the half-elf's breastplate.
Henry Southgard sees the big Orc coming to and decides that, no, he does not feel like fighting off two Orcs at the same time. With a bootheel dug into his horse's flank, he orders it to retreat ever so slightly. Once safely out of the little Orc's reach, he reloads the crossbow and fires at the big one.
Not sparing a moment to judge how well he'd hurt the Orc, Henry yanks on his horse's reins (He really, really needed to come up with a name for the poor thing) and mutters a few words in broken Elven for reassurance.
As the orc tries to crawl away Ajaxx continues to swing wildly.
But with the rage in his eyes Ajaxx isn't able to connect.
Seeing the guy crawl into a bush Ajaxx mounts his horse. "That won't save you!" he yells at the orc in the bush. Jamming his crochet into the bag he pulls out a jar of lamp oil.
"You will burn!!"
Vylyra breathes a quick sigh of relief as the arrow narrowly misses her and continues her movement towards the archer.
The pain from her prior injuries causes her to wince right as she looses her arrow, pushing her shot far to the side of where she believes the archer to be.
"Damn!" she shouts in pain and frustration.
The crossbow bolt pegs the big orc square in the chest, and his hazy expression turns to surprise, and then rage. Fuming, he scrambles to take up his falchion, and throws himself haphazardly at the mounted mercenary.
With a loud clanging, Henry’s breastplate saves him from a grievous wound.
Grinning at his leader’s ferocity, the small orc turns to circle wide, and notices a ragged falchion near Quick’s limp hands. He stoops down and takes it. Leaving his large club on the ground, he gives the horse a wide berth before closing in on Henry’s flank. As he does so, the mount retaliates but the rear kick glances off the little orc’s leather armor.
The orc hiding under the bushes, probably not too keen on the idea of being burned, hops to his feet and bolts straightaway. His path takes him right to Vylyra, and as he runs, a dagger appears in his hand.
Another arrow sings through this air.
This time it sticks into the ground a few feet ahead of the half-elf huntress.
Henry Southgard brings his horse around and trots over to Quick. The horse takes a hasty swipe at one of the bandits.
And succeeds in spraying some trail dirt in their general direction. Henry's first instinct is to leap off the saddle and come to Quick's aid, but there's two angry bandits with drawn blades, and he doesn't like those odds. So he reloads, takes aim at the bandit leader, and fires.
After all this, Henry remembers that he's got a party with him. He's not fighting alone. Even though the other two aren't soldiers and haven't sworn to take orders, perhaps they'll listen to suggestions?
"Ajaxx! Vylyra! Quick is down and he needs help!"
Managing to pull himself away from the man away blood rage. Ajaxx looks over to see that Quick has fallen. Yelling in anger Ajaxx points to the orc by Vylyra. "IF I CAN SEE YOU WHEN I GET DONE KILLING YOUR BOSS I WILL BURN YOU!!"
Spinning his horse around Ajaxx tries to lead it with his legs so he can grab up his shield
With the horse refusing to listen to him Ajaxx grabs the rains and leads the horse toward Quick. Ajaxx then slips his arm into his tower shield. Pointing his flail at the two orcs next to him. "Run in fear, Ajaxx is here. Get out now and save your lives. Stay and I kill you."
Vylyra takes a step away from the one with the dagger, fires her bow point blank and whispers, "I am done with you."
Vylyra’s arrow sinks deep into the bandit’s chest and his body limply spins to the ground.
The biggest orc’s fury stops short when he recovers from a crossbow bolt piercing his shoulder. Looking down at his wounds disheartened, his courage breaks when Ajaxx’s reinforcement gallops in. Without a second to delay, he turns and bolts down the road, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He manages to reach Vylyra’s horse and swing a leg over the saddle.
“Oi!” The smaller orc follows after him, not wanting to be left behind. He reaches Quick’s horse and prepares to pull himself up onto the seat.
Suddenly, the bushes and dense foliage around the road begin to move. Every grass blade teems and grows, and the green bushes stretch and lash out, until they cover the road. Before they can escape, Ajaxx and Henry find themselves amid a wide swathe of whipping and wrapping plants that coil around anything and everything! Quick’s body and the unconscious orc beside him are nearly covered in long grasses, and the two mercenaries horses struggle against the aggressive plant life.
Ajaxx and his horse are able to stamp and pull away from the touchy vegetation, but Henry’s mount panics and bucks to free itself of the strange plants. For his part, the crossbowman is able to avoid the green tendrils, and it takes him a great deal of effort to stay in the saddle. Seconds later, legs of Henry’s horse are fastened firmly to the ground, despite the warhorse’s struggle.
"Stop trying to steal our houses!!" Ajaxx yells at the orcs as he wheels his horse around and begins picking his way through the mad undergrowth.
As he gets next to the two orcs with he smirks and informs the two, "Well boys, again I must repeat, stay or try to steal the horses and you die. Run and I let you live."
Satisfied that the one with the dagger is at least unconscious, Vylyra moves towards the archer once again and aims her bow crouching near a bush for cover.
She lets loose her arrow and hopes for the best.
"Damn it, hold on," Henry Southgard mutters to his horse. "Stay steady and calm...
Henry Southgard smoothly slides out of his saddle and lands beside the prone sorcerer. He is unsure of what ails Quick but strongly suspects poison. With nothing better to do, he pours a health potion down Quick's mouth and starts cutting the Half-Orc free of the entangling vines.
Vylyra’s shot soars to the windmill, but her sharp elven eyes see it bounce off the stone wall just below the pointed rooftop.
As Henry administers the healing potion to the young mage, he first removes the arrow in his rump. The boy had also taken a beating from a large club. However, the fellow Port Elam survivor sees on the arrowhead and shaft, obscured by half-orc blood is a dark oily substance that confirms his suspicions of poison. The magical brew begins its work, and Henry can see the wound close and dark bruises subside. But Quick does not regain consciousness.
This appears to be a poison that induces unconsciousness if introduced to the blood of the subject. It does not cause further bodily harm. The resilient can overcome its effects in a couple minutes, but the unlucky might be unconscious for hours. The few moments after exposure decide how well the subject fares against this poison.
This type of poison was invented by the drow, who employ it to take slaves back to their underground homes. Unsurprisingly, it is often referred to as Drow Poison.
The mercenary’s horse unsuccessfully struggles against the creeping grass, but Henry effortlessly avoids further entanglement among teeming vegetation.
The smallest orc gives up on stealing Quick’s horse and leaps away from the mounted pit-fighter. However, he slows down a little bit at the edge of the bushes, and seems to wait for the orc on Vylyra’s horse.
The biggest orc rolls his eyes at Ajaxx and digs his heels into the horse’s speckled sides. The mount chuffs irritably but obeys the command. He veers off the road and turns east, slowing for a moment for the smaller orc to hop on back.
The two orcs bounce atop the horse as the mount’s gallop begins to build in speed. Vylyra can hear the hooves behind her and sees her horse being stolen by two orcs! Both have crossbow bolts sticking out of them and they are fleeing the battle and riding for the windmill.
A loud, high-pitched whistle follows the arrow from the windmill, sticking into the ground to the left of Vylyra’s feet.
The shaft on this arrow near the half-elf’s feet appears to be carved in a way to create a whistling sound when fired from an arrow.
"DO YOU NOT SPEAK COMMON!" As Ajaxx swings his flail at the throat of the leader looking orc, meaning to pull the chap off his horse, Ajaxx wonders if they do actually understands common.
Then he uses his movement to dismount and grabs the horses rains once he hops off. Dangling his flail ball down at the man simply states, "You are going to want to stay down."
If he succeeds or fails Ajaxx will dangling his flail ball down at the man simply stating, "You are going to want to stay down."
The biggest orc rolls his eyes at Ajaxx and digs his heels into the horse’s speckled sides. The mount chuffs irritably but obeys the command. He veers off the road and turns east, slowing for a moment for the smaller orc to hop on back.The two orcs bounce atop the horse as the mount’s gallop begins to build in speed. Vylyra can hear the hooves behind her and sees her horse being stolen by two orcs! Both have crossbow bolts sticking out of them and they are fleeing the battle and riding for the windmill.
Ajaxx’s flail pulls the biggest orc down.
Down he goes, landing hard on his side. The biggest orc rolls back onto his feet, falchion in hand. But he turns and runs away from Ajaxx, in hot pursuit of the smaller orc, who also moves away from the pit-fighter.
However, the sudden violence sends Ajaxx's horse into a panic, and the mercenary is unable to quickly console his mount. The horse rears and bucks, and it is all Ajaxx can do to keep from falling off. Moreover, Quick and Vylyra's horses bolt in random directions, afraid to be harmed.
Quick's wounds heal and... nothing happens. Henry Southgard pulls the arrow out of its wound before it can close around the arrowhead and tosses it aside. The Half-Orc's breathing remains shallow.
"Quick!" Henry says as he pulls a jar of nettle poultice out of his bag and applies it to the sorcerer's wound. "Can you hear me?"
When he has a free moment, Henry loads his crossbow and then returns to cutting the tendrils away from Quick.
Moving towards the archer yet again, Vylyra lets loose another arrow in their direction. She's beginning to feel like all her training was for naught as the arrow slides into the ground hitting no person.
Quick does not wake up or respond to Henry's words. Both Henry and his horse find themselves overcome with the grass and bushes wrapping around their limbs.
The smallest orc sees Quick’s grey horse within arms reach, and pulls himself up onto the saddle.
“Wait!” commands the bigger orc, and in seconds, he catches up and clambers onto the horse behind the smaller orc. “Yah!” The horse with two riders gallops away toward the windmill, albeit slower for the heavier burden.
Vylyra’s arrow misses, and for the moment receives none from the windmill in return.
Henry Southgard tears at the vines and looses a shot at the small Orc atop Quick's horse
The vines almost immediately grapple his shooting arm and nearly pull his crossbow away. Henry is surprisingly unconcerned. It was just a magic spell, and all spells could only last so long. The plants would wither in a few moments, and then he could load Quick onto his horse (Perhaps Steelheart would be a good name? What was that thing that Uncle Robert had said about his racing horses?) and get him to safety. The bandits were fleeing, and cowards rarely returned to a fight.
Henry was even unworried... no, he was worried about whatever ailed Quick. But he knew it was out of his hands. He'd done all he could to restore the kid to health. But if anything could help him...
"I don't know what you are, and I don't know what you can do," he says as he picks up the Silver Scale. "To be honest, you don't look any more special than the painted holy symbols I see in the market. But if you are real, you are hanging around the neck of the last believer in all of Vyren. If he dies, there is nobody else. You will be forgotten. What's more, Quick is my comrade. If he dies without so much as a hint of divine intervention on your part, I'm going to have you melted down and beaten into kitschy dinnerware. Get to work."