Nme'an glares at the magic using Koblod with disdain as he adjusts his grip on his weapon. "Ni kidogo ya haki sana ya kuuliza?" he shouts, not that he expects the creature to understand him. To accentuate his point, Nme'an pushes past the four surrounding him and engages the leader directly.
for:
"Is a little bit of fairness too much to ask?"
The four kobold warriors jab at the knight as he haphazardly attacks the leader. Two of them stab as two of them attempt to trip him once again.
He feels a significantly less painful poke to the ribs between his armor, and is able to step over the spear shafts that would take his feet out from under him.
The half-elf delivers the deep cut across the chest of the kobold sorcerer, and the scaly creature staggers at the blow. Screeching a raspy command, the wounded leader steps back, and the four spear-wielders circle around Nme’an to surround their leader. Their comrade furthest from the knight attempts to help stop the blood gushing from the mage’s chest, while the three attack the paladin again.
One of the spears draws blood as Nme’an turns away the other two. The kobold’s attempts to aid his leader accomplishes little more than covering his own claws in blood.
This time, Nme'an sees the Koblods' dirty moves coming and tries to make one of them pay...
for
...and pay for even attempting such a thing.
for
The knight finishes his swing and then heals once again.
Nme’an’s retributive strike mortally wounds one that would trip him, and when the three reassemble in front of their leader, he cuts down the kobold in the middle. Seeing an opening between his two remaining comrades, the kobold sorcerer’s claws elongate as they weave smoldering orange symbols. “Ignis Imbre!”
A roaring cone of fire sprays out of his claws, covering the paladin in flames.
When the burst ends, one of the kobolds steps over his fallen and now torched comrade and the two attack in earnest. But the stalwart knight turns away both spears, and he sees the sorcerer collapse under the strain of his wounds and the release of the fiery spell.
Nme'an spots the sorcerer weaving his spell just in time and manages to move his shield between his face and the flames, ablating some of the searing damage to his skin.
When the flames end and Nme'an pulls his shield back he sees that the leader is no longer a threat.
"Sasa, ambayo mmoja wenu tripped mimi kabla?" he asks. Unable to tell the two small lizard men apart Nme'an picks the one directly in front of him and attacks.
for
The paladin’s longsword runs the kobold through, and a wheezing final breath escapes the crumpling lizard. The last kobold’s eyes widen and it turns to flee the massacre of his kin.
Nme'an lets the final Koblod go, his long wakeful night leaving him too tired to give chase.
"Si njia yangu preferred kuanza asubuhi..." Nme'an mutters to himself. With little additional thought on the matter he falls back on his training. He first searches the Koblods, looking for anything of value to his quest more than looking to make some quick coin.
Next he carefully checks what remains of his wounds. He finds no serious scrapes or punctures, but he can feel numerous pricks of pain coming from all over this left side with every step he takes. Though he got his shield up in time, the Koblod's flames still managed to char his skin... almost like a nasty sunburn. He considers healing himself a third time but holds off, remembering that his newfound ability only had a few uses. How many, exactly, he still doesn't know...
Finally, Nme'an retraces his footsteps through the early dawn light and eventually spots his bow in the grass well away from the river. He brushes the dirt off of it then moves to retrieve a distant Rexel. Horse in tow, Nme'an returns to the tree he camped under intending to wrap and restow his bedroll.
"Wa wote ..." he says, nearly cursing, as he sees now nearly dried blood blotted all over the heavy cloth fabric. The cursed Koblod sorcerer had hid right on top of it during the fight! Grumbling, Nme'an rerolls it, loads up his horse, and sets out to make good on his promise to return to the others.
"Not my preferred way to start a morning..."
"Of all the..."
After about two hours of keeping watch over his companions, Themp chances to notice something in the blackness beyond the campfire -a small orange flash of light. Just as quickly as the mysterious light appeared, it is gone. No sounds seem to follow the flash, which could've been as far as one mile north.
---------------------------------
The last kobold scurries a wide loop and continues his flight to the north.
Aside from the obvious small equipment such as spears, slings, and armor, Nme’an finds four flasks of alchemist’s fire among the bodies, as well as a hard cannister containing a scroll in the pack of the kobold mage. Around the leader’s neck is a leather string adorned with two fleshy humanoid thumbs and an ear, along with a myriad of dried bones from various small creatures.
Caught off-guard by the sudden flash, Themp stares at the point it came from, trying to notice any further developments.
That's not very common... I wonder if... Dragons?
The minute sounds Beorae shifting a bit in her sleep slowly taer his gaze from the distance. His eyes focus intently on her hands.
Perhaps another mage... Wait, isn't there where the paladin was headed?
Themp walk just out of the firepit's glare, hoping the darkness allows him to notice anything else. Knowing it would be irresponsible to go any further without waking his companions, but fearing he might wake them in vain, he goes no further, keeping his eyes and ears open for anything.
Some twenty minutes later Nme'an arrives back at his colleagues camp. Spotting Themp standing guard around the fire, he calls out, "You drew last watch then?" keeping his friendly tone loud enough to be heard by the watchful rogue, but hopefully quiet enough not to disturb the others.
The city boy jumps slightly, apparently having not spotted Nme'an until he spoke. Perhaps the dirt and mud still clinging to his armor from when he was tripped helped dampen it's usual noisiness and reflectivity...
With a perceptible tenderness, the knight groans as if in some pain as he dismounts. He quietly ties his horse with the others then walks back to Themp and says, "The sun should be rising soon. I will get started on breakfast if you want to remain on watch a bit longer..."
Hastily recomposing himself, before the knight manages to jest him, Themp addresses him. "Whoa there, mud ogre! Don't sneak up on people in the dark like that..."
"Say, what is up with all this mess on you? What happened to you?" After a brief pause, he squints a bit at the singe marks over the paladin's armor. "Was that sudden flash of fire yours? Are you alright?"
"Mine? No. Directed at me? Very much so..." Nme'an responds. "Five Koblods came across me about an hour ago now, a sorcerer among them... All but one are dead and fortunately I am not much worse for the wear. A bit dirty though, as you so kindly noticed." he says, as he wipes a larger clot of mud from his armor.
"Everything is all right here I take it?" he asks.
Beorae turns over in her sleep with a soft mumble, “I wanna ride the pony…”
Stifling his laugh at the druid's sudden interruption, Themp carries the conversation on. "Assuming the others didn't handle anything on their own, yeah, everything is just fine. Nothing of notice happened."
"Except for your fireworks over there, of course." Themp adds, nodding over north. "You seem pretty tired. Why don't you catch some sleep while I finish the last watch? It looks like you need it."
Nme'an nods at the thankfully good report then says, "No good. Sleeping now would just make me feel how tired I am. Better to just push on through it." He shrugs then continues, "I used to do this all the time, staying the night, then patrolling the streets in the day. What would do me more good is be a decent breakfast..."
Nme'an glances back at the fire and notices that while it had been well maintained throughout the night it is not quite large enough to properly heat a meal.
"I'll be right back," he tells Themp before venturing out into the darkness. A few minutes later he comes back with a small arm load of firewood and gently arranges the sticks and logs to increase the fire's size without making an abundance of noise.
"I did find a few interesting things among the Koblod... Alchemist fire vials if I'm not mistaken... and what looks to be a scroll case from the sorcerer. Perhaps we can learn something from the scroll within... once the sun is up," Nme'an says as he continues making preparation for the morning meal, using four of his trail rations from Thaleniel.
Nme’an easily revives the orange coals in the campfire, and Themp continues to keep a look out for incoming danger. The time passes quietly between the two, and the sky on the forested eastern horizon begins to lighten.
By the time the sun makes an appearance over the treetops, the slumbering druidess and the snoring Urlghain wake to smell of Nme’an’s breakfast.
“Good morning. Hope your night wasn't too eventful, Nme'an. Thanks for making breakfast.” Conversation quickly turns to Nme'an's scorched armor, and the paladin mentions his encounter with the kobolds. When Nme'an shows her the scroll, Beorae reminds herself to prepare the appropriate spells.
After breakfast, Beorae packs up her bedroll, grabs a few empty vials, her spear, and the silken rope. She walks a couple hundred feet south along the river, looking for a peaceful spot. Securing the weapon in the wet soil of the river bank, the druidess sits, allowing the sounds of the river and forest to wash over her as she meditates.
Before heading back to the camp, Beorae tries to catch some catfish, hoping to collect some of their healing slime.
______________________________________
While Beorae does her routine, Shark takes the hour to go hunting.
Beorae remembers a technique taught to her many years ago by her druid mentor. Wading shoeless into the shallows of the river, the young druidess is still for several minutes, crouched and ready. A few more quiet minutes pass before the small brown fish begin meandering between the shadows among the river rocks, and quick as lightning, Beorae has a squirming brown catfish in her hands. Shedding the writhing creature’s excess slime into the vials, the druidess releases the catfish and repeats the process until she has as much as she needs. Shark returns from his hunting excursion while Beorae still works with the catfish, and looks at his master with hungry, begging eyes.
The highlander, in a dark mood at the sight of Nme’an, smiles and finds great amusement at the technique, gesturing at Beorae’s catch, “Ha! Liek ah fish outta woter!” perhaps not immediately recognizing how his commentary is quite literal. Rolling to his feet, the big man stretches and begins repacking his bedroll, lastly affixing the leather scabbard of his greatsword to his back. He tugs on the handle to assure an easy draw, and leans his broad shoulders against a tree while he waits for the others to be ready to leave.
Snorting at the barbarian's comment, Themp carries on his vigil, absent-mindedly carving little poorly-representative sculptures out of wood with his dagger.
"So, can't we enjoy this lovely riverside spot a little longer? Say, another day?"
Nme'an sets about tidying himself up as Beorae fishes. Using water from the river he cleans pieces of his sooted armor and even goes so far as to unfurl his bedroll and wash it in the cold river. A disturbing trail of bloodied water flows downstream for a time until the half-elf can wring no more out.
When finished, Nme'an stands and glowers out at the center of the river for a time, but then shakes his head and packs his things. He turns when he hears Themp's question and responds with, "I think that doubly unwise. Urgency not withstanding, if we move out now we may be able to press the advantage of the Kobold thinking there is but one knight encroaching on their territory."
"I carry my shield on my left," he adds as he glances down at the four figurines Themp has carved so far.
Mot spits in the direction of the river when he hears Nme’an’s assessment. “Ah dinnae keer wot teh kobalds think. Ef Brenaan could sley a thoosand a those scaly pipsqueaks, ah’ll cut down two thoosand, nae, TEN thoosand, b'fore we be dun here.”
"You may not care, but..." Nme'an starts to reply before he cuts himself off.
'Pamoja na ukosefu wa kuwa mazuri...' he reminds himself before moving away to keep busy elsewhere nearby.
'Despite the unpleasantness...'
Beorae catches one last catfish, collecting the slime into the bottle. She motions to throw the fish back into the water, but hesitates for a moment, looking over at Shark. “Didn't catch anything this morning? All right, here you go…” she says to the tiger, tossing the flapping fish onto the riverbank, “…but let's not make this a habit.”
While Shark tears into the fish, Beorae stoppers the vials and pulls her boots back on. The druidess makes her way back to the camp, making One Sock ready for travel. Turning to Nme'an, she says quietly, “Hebu kuona kwamba kitabu…”
Concentrating on the still-closed magical scroll, Beorae tries to detect any traps or triggers before she opens the rolled parchment. Not finding anything to worry about, she unfurls the scroll and inspects the scribbled writings to determine what spell is contained therein.
“Interesting…,” she murmurs, rolling the parchment back up. “This is a scroll to protect against arrows and other ranged weaponry. It's relatively potent, too: it'll last for a couple good volleys at least. This will probably come in handy.”
“If you can't read this, do you mind if I hold onto it?” Beorae asks, securing it into her belt before hopping up on One Sock's back.
The four Thaleniel champions trot out from their campsite, and in no time pass four dead kobolds where Nme’an camped just a mile north of the other three. Themp sees a triangle of torched grass among the red-scaled bodies.
The time passes slowly as the towering Peak of Armaag and the jagged Komat mountain range inches closer to the humans and half-elves. They pass sparse evidence of kobolds, from small forgotten spears to the bones of eaten fowl cast aside, once every hour or so. But no kobolds themselves can be seen as the clouded sun shines directly overhead. Continuing north, the Emestar River seems to bend slightly to the northeast.
Beorae notices the river's gentle bend and looks to the mountains to determine their best course.
Nme'an long frequenting of cities, forests, and towns leaves him searching for a good place to head for among the distant rocks. Or maybe he's just tired...
Following the lead of the druidess, the travelers turn their path from the riverside and proceed north. The overhead sun begins to incline into early evening, casting the looming mountains ahead in a purpling shade. Two hours departing from the river, the four find something of note along their path.
Still some distance away, it looks like a single, tall pike sticking up from the ground with two thin ribbons, gold and blue, lazily turn in the soft wind. Riding closer, it appears to mark a grave of some kind, and the pike is a lance buried at the handle.
A short distance west leads to a related oddity -what looks like small burned bones piled over scorched earth, though some of the remnants are scattered somewhat due to weather and wild animals. Kobold skulls can be seen among the open cremation, and nothing belonging to human, elf, or dwarf with any certainty.
Although Nme’an’s experience in the Order of the Dawnflower is still a bit new, during his squireship he recalls hearing Sir Montigue telling him that if a knight’s body cannot be interred in Thaleniel in accordance with tradition, his surviving brothers of the order are bound to provide as honorable a burial can possible. This could be a buried knight.
Once more trudging forth towards kobold territory, Themp can't help but feel unease. Still, he marches on, keeping the elven cloak at hand at all times.
EDIT FOR NEW DEVELOPMENT:
As they come upon the pile, Themp can't help but feel even more unease.
Nme'an pulls Rexel to a stop at the sight of the grave and the dead Kobolds. "I suspect this is the place the battle the wood elves told us of took... place." he says before heading towards the grave for a closer look.
Themp’s unease focuses on something odd about the burial site. The grass around the standing lance looks like the covering to a pit trap!
Nme’an knows that a Knight Captain is buried here.
Approaching the grave, the riders can see small writing on the gold ribbon, but one would need to walk up and hold the ribbon still to read it.
Noticing the oddly displaced grass, Themp signals his companions to an emergency stop and speaks in a hushed tone. "Uh, you guys? I don't mean to unnecessarily worry you, but I'm pretty sure there's a pit trap right over there."
I wonder what the point of setting a trap right here would be. If Nme'an hadn't tried to get closer just now, I would've never thought someone would.
Nme'an is quick to tug on Rexel's reins and keep a fair distance between himself and the trap. Looking down at the oddly placed grass from his elvated vantage point on the back of his horse, Nme'an tries to spot a safe way to the grave.
Beorae pulls One Sock to a stop immediately at Themp's mention of a trap. “Do you mean the grave is actually a trap?” she asks, looking about for any indication of kobolds or other threats. “That's devious…”
Even with it pointed out by the rogue, the knight has a difficult time discerning where the pit covering begins. However, now that Beorae knows what she is looking for, sees that the grass covering is slightly tinged with malnourishment, indicating a lack of dirt for their shallow roots.
Mot's eyes narrow in suspicion and he pivots in his saddle, looking for signs of an ambush. He sniffs the air and he hefts his spear.
The grass that covers the pit is still very green, suggesting that this pit trap was created no longer than a few days ago.
“Huh, the trap extends from the lance about five feet in all directions. Looks like it's probably only a few days old at most, given the state of the grass.”
After a few moments of silence, the druidess says to no one in particular, “I've got a bad feeling about this…”
"What worries me is the order of things," Nme'an says. "Did The Order bury one of the knights only to have the grave trapped, or was the trap built and later baited with a lance from one of the knights?"
Nme'an dismounts and draws closer to the pit and draws his knife, getting down on his hands and knees as he gets reaches the edge. Using his blade and his free hand Nme'an attempts to pull back the grass covering to see what danger is being hidden.
Lifting the grassy cover sheds light on what awaited the unwary and far too curious. A twenty foot pit drops to a dirt floor lined with sharp wooden spikes. A centered wooden post extends from the floor, with the handle of the lance nailed to the end. A lattice of thin branches support the grass covering, designed to collapse under the weight of a footfall. Nme'an finds no remains of a fellow knight.
"So, what've we got?"
"It's a trap! Nme'an says angrily. "They must have seen one of us buried before and made this kijinga trap..." Recovering himself he turns and to the others and says, "It's a large, deep pit with spikes. The lance is fastened or maybe even nailed to a central pole... Maybe it is recoverable, but not without some serious time and effort. I think it is best we simply leave it, or better yet remove the covering so no one else will fall victim."
"Ribbon? Why would you want to recover the ribbon?"
As he looks over to the pit, he continues. "I mean, I could easily jump over that pit and fetch it for you, but why would you want it?"
"If it were gin... gen... real, which I now doubt, it might have told us who was buried. As it is the entire thing is suspect. Besides, a leap would more likely send you falling straight down when the lance held firm to the pole..." Nme'an cautions.
"Challenge accepted, brave paladin!"
With a quick wink at Beorae and large, overtly theatrical bow to Nme'an, Themp sets off running towards the pit.
In a big leap, Themp soars alongside the spear and snatches the ribbon off of it, landing in a graceful roll on the other side of the pit.
Quickly bouncing back up on his feet, he once again theatrically bows towards his companions and walks over to the knight, showing him the ribbon.
"Is this what you wanted?"
"It is. Thank you," Nme'an says, holding back any comments about the potentially dangerous action, before he inspects the ribbon.
On the gold ribbon, it reads, Here lies Knight Captain Donald Lawdrake of the Order of the Dawnflower. Bravely served king and country for eighteen years. May Sarenae guide his soul to light and bliss.
Mot slides off his saddle and walks up, widening his snaggle-toothed grin when he sees the agile city man leap across the cover of grass. “Ya missed teh speear, laddie!” he laughs, “Ah’ll get et…”
Paying little attention to the gold prize of the leaper, his gaze remains on the lance. Pacing a few steps back, the highlander drops his spear and pulls his chainmail shirt over his thick hairy head. Stamping the ground, his powerful legs run at the pit, and then vault his muscular form into the air.
His meaty fingers close around the lance, but the solid mass of highlander soars through the air before he can hold fast. He falls ungracefully just beyond the edge of the pit, and tumbles a bit further. “Joost maekin suure Ah could joomp et,” he grunts in frustration. He rolls to all fours and begins charging at the hazardous trap once more.
“Ha!”
This time Mot grabs the lance closer to the base. The wood under the covering cracks loudly and the pike breaks free. Some of the grass in the center of the covering falls into the pit. Landing on his feet this time, the beaming Casns holds his prize aloft for a moment before inspecting it. “A fansee chaargin speear! Parfect fer runnin’ foes t’roo.”
He lifts a big proud smile to his companions.
Nme'an just shakes his head.
"Mimi ni mmoja tu hapa si mjinga haraka?" he mutters before turning back to his horse without comment.
'Captain Donald Lawdrake, Nme'an thinks to himself, trying to place a name to the face.
Nme’an knows that the local taverns tell of Sir Lawdrake, known for coming to the rescue of Castle Bitterfont and marrying above his station. But, the Knight Apprentice knows more details on his accomplishments than the common man.
Knight Captain Donald Lawdrake served as one of many knights in the Order for a few years before he earned distinction among them. Fifteen years ago, Lawdrake rode out of Castle Bitterfont to preempt an attack by giants, according to scout reports. When the giants advanced on the fortress and none of the riders returned, it was assumed that the riders had failed and were slaughtered by the massive, thuggish folk. The defense of the castle was going poorly; despite the preparedness of the garrison, there were simply too many giants to repel. The walls were breached and the remaining knights defended from the keep, holding the ruling lord and his family in the safest part of the tallest stone tower.
When the battle seemed hopeless, and only a matter of time until all were reduced to gore by brute force, Sir Lawdrake galloped ahead of a band of Gripili -the fabled frogfolk of the Bloomrot Marshes, never seen by human eye and the stuff of mythic tales. That is, until that day. With their hit-and-run tactics and poisoned arrows, Lawdrake’s Gripili allies turned the tide of the battle, while the returning knight himself stood between a fearsome giant and the wife and children of the Lord Timeon Andreat, ruler of the Bitterfont. The giants not struck down fled back to the Urthog Hills, and just as quickly, the Gripili disappeared into the Bloomrot Marshes before Lord Timeon Andreat or the knights could thank them.
After the battle, after the wounded were tended to and repairs to the castle begun, scholars and historians alike pestered Sir Lawdrake how he contacted the mysterious and elusive frogfolk, but he declined, citing a vow of silence he made to the Gripili on the matter. Since that day, the Gripili have never been seen or contacted by men, and in the years to follow, Sir Lawdrake never once broke his promise.
The oldest daughter of Lord Timeon Andreat and niece to King Thadeus Andreat, Olivia Thadeus, took notice of Sir Donald Lawdrake’s bravery at the battle of Bitterfont. The interest proved to be mutual, and developed into a strong romance. The two were married by the following summer, and had thusfar enjoyed fourteen years of marital bliss. In those years, Lord Timeon has grown old and rumors whispered of Sir Lawdrake’s inheritance of the castle. Nme’an knows now, if the ribbon is true, this will never be.
"Well done."
Nme'an remembered those words as if they'd been spoken yesterday. Most everyone who knew of Sir Lawdrake knew of him for his defeat of the giants at Castle Bitterfont, but for Nme'an those two words, and the loud slow claps that had preceded them, would forever be associated with the legendary knight.
It had been a rainy day when he and the more recent admittants into The Order had been informed they would be demonstrating the skills they had learned for the king and his entourage. The hastily assembled demonstration, a series of mock battles between those in The Order, had taken place in the muddy courtyard of the Dawnflower compound. To his dismay, Nme'an remembered, he had been assigned to duel a member of The Order who had been in training for nearly two years, one who was soon to become a knight apprentice!
He had been determined not to be embarrassed in front of the king, Nme'an recalled, but the likelihood of that had been slim given his relative lack of experience and technique compared to his opponent. The starting horn had blown and it had appeared embarrassment would occur quickly indeed when his opponent had charged him, pressed against his shield, and forced him back towards the edge of the combat ring painted on the grass. There simply had not been any solid ground to be found. Going on the offensive would have been useless, his opponent was clearly the better swordsman, and staying on the defensive would have done nothing more than delay a defeat thanks to the slippery terrain. But then, Nme'an remembered it so clearly that he could still feel it, his right foot had come down on what had to have been the one piece of solid rock in the entire ring. One patch of sure footing wouldn't allow him to press an advantage, but it had allowed him to finally stand his ground.
Then, Nme'an remembered, after coming at him from every angle, his opponent had been the one to begin to lose his footing. It was perhaps his most satisfying victory of his life, even up to the present day, Nme'an concluded, pushing off his small dry patch of rock to send both himself and his opponent down into the mud outside the legal combat zone. The crowd of fellow members of The Order and onlooking nobles had been stunned at the unexpected upset. Then one man in the king's box had stood, had clapped loudly enough for everyone watching to hear and had said, "Well done."
It was only later that day, after the King and his relatives had left, Nme'an recalled, that he'd learned just who that man had been and the history behind his legend. They never actually met, beyond the distant meeting of eyes, but to this day Nme'an knew exactly who Sir Lawdrake was, beyond even the stories and legends.
"Well done, Mot," Nme'an says, his mind back in the present as he turns to face the big man again, "but you would do well to take great care of that lance. Its owner..." he pauses, not sure how to explain, "is... was... someone important to my Order and to me."
A dark glower takes the barbarians face as the Paladin speaks. Grin still plastered under hard eyes the Urlghain listens to Nme'ans words before spitting on the ground where he stands. With a look of disgust he replies, "Och, dinnae woory yoor pretty liddle heed, moorderer. Ah'll nae be oone tae dishooner yoor ordar."
Spitting again he turns away and begins fiddling with the straps of his saddle, finding a place to secure the weapon before remounting and looking towards the still distant horizon.
'Good enough...' Nme'an thinks to himself.
He too returns to his horse but then takes a moment to glance back at the pile of scorched bones.
"What of the bones?" He asks the others. "Might they also be a trap?" Considering his own question for a moment Nme'an turns and walks cautiously towards the pile. "If they are I am not leaving it for some innocent to find..." he says.