Blood runs from the blacksmith’s nose, covering his beard and growing wild grin. His eyes blaze as he recognizes a real challenge. “Wow! Hab’nt been ‘it like that in ages!” He snorts up blood as he rears back to deliver a haymaker.
But Mot can see the swing coming from a mile away, and easily dodges the meaty fist.
“That’s Eli Preston, the best blacksmith in Thaleniel,” Laura says to Themp over the noisy brawl, “A hard worker, hard drinker, and a hard fighter.” She looks up at the rogue, shrugging, “If your friend can drop him, I’ll be impressed.”
Nme'an shifts five inches to the right, avoiding ANY potential attack of opportunity, and attempts to flip his pillow over to the cool side. He succeeds! The cool pillow against his face quickly has him back in a very restful sleep.
"Hoho! Haeve ta bea a bit quicker than that!" Casns says as he ducks his head, returning with a fierce uppercut of his own.
Mot turns his shaggy head towards his companion across the room. "Thes glaikit feartie willnae take mea moor than a minute!" He shouts. "Ahtend ta yoor lady freend!" He grins wildly as he regards his opponent.
"Will do, mate!" answers Themp. And turning to Laura "Let's get that tankard filled again."
Themp picks up the lady's tankard and moves over to the bar (carefully avoiding the area immediately around the highlander and the blacksmith).
"My good man, could you please fill this up with the strongest mead you have?"
Mot’s fist catches the blacksmith’s jaw and nearly throws him off balance. But the working man raises a leg with the momentum and aims a boot at Urlghain gut.
But the highlander readily knocks the foot aside.
“Hold still, ya bristling marmot!” the brawler bellows.
The barkeep raises his club as Themp approaches, but halts with a surprised look when the rogue asks for a drink, rather than trying to steal one in the chaos of the fistfights around him. The surprise turns to suspicion. “Sure thing,” he replies, not taking his eyes off the young man as he fills the tankard. When he encounters no funny business, he shrugs and finishes pouring the drink. “Two silvers.” He hands the brimming cup back to the pair.
Mot smiles with the smile of the unbeaten as his opponent fails to land yet another blow. "Och! Doo Ah haev to teech ya hoow to keek tooo?" The Urlghain says with mock incredulity. Pivoting on one foot he lashes out with a high kick aimed at the smiths face. His kilt lifts in the process, giving any who happened to be looking from that side of the room a full view of what a Casns doesn't wear underneath.
"Two silver? Again? Didn't you see the lady had her drink spilled? Surely the noble-spirited owner of this fine establishment can afford to refill a lady her drink for less than that price."
Nme’an begins dreaming of the day he was promoted from Squire to Knight Apprentice. Your ward, Knight Captain Montague Belarand, is beaming with pride as Prince Titus ceremoniously draws a longsword and gestures for Nme’an to kneel before those of the Order, of the church, and the royal family. As he does so, the half-elf is surprised to see that his legs are bare, instead of encased in armor as tradition dictates. To his horror, he realizes he kneels in nothing but his smallclothes before the grand assembly.
Mot’s boot catches the blacksmith square in the face, and sends the great man reeling back, bowling over other brawlers behind him. Hitting the ground, the man with the battered face does not get up, through his barrel chest continues to rise and fall. The rest of the bar fighters pause at the display, shocked to see Eli Preston knocked out cold. Even Molly, expertly reading the crowd, silences her fiddle for the moment. The highlander can feel all eyes turn to him.
“Hey! That’s Mot Casns! One of the champions of the city!” of the patrons shouts.
“I’ve never seen Eli bested in a fistfight!” another adds.
The haggard old cook calls from the door, “I’ve heard tales of the three-legged highlanders, but I never thought it was true!” Her missing-toothed amber smile gleams at Mot as the rest in the bar hold their bellies and laugh. Mot notices the brown-haired barmaid from earlier blushing deeply and smiling when he sees her.
Laura takes a step closer to Mot, tugging Themp by the arm behind her. “And this is his fellow champion, Themp Namor!”
She raises his arm high into the air as the patrons hoot and clap.
“Three cheers for the city champions!” someone calls, “Hipip!”
“HUZZAH!” all shout in unison.
“Hipip!”
“HUZZAH!”
“Hipip!”
“HUZZAAAAAAAAAH!” the entire bar roars, clapping, stomping, and cheering. Interest in fighting dwindles as all return to their drinks. Many begin uprighting tables and chairs, and the bar is flooded with those who lost their ale or wine in the chaos. Themp catches the eye of the barkeep, who waves away the cost of the mead before turning to the throng before him. Of few of Eli Preston’s tablemates continue to drunkenly laugh as they load the burly blacksmith between their shoulders and stumble out of the bar. “A fine kick, highlander! Eli won't be up til sunrise, HaHA!” one of them calls behind him, just before ducking into the night.
Merry Molly begins her music again and several pair up and skip to the dancing floor. Many beckon the two to join their tables, shouting for ales to be brought to the champions on their hard-earned coin. Mot and Themp notice the elder librarian explaining the passed out drunkard to two guardsmen at the side door, who nod and then quietly drag the troublemaker out of the Boar and Beetle.
Mot raises his arms over his head in an approximation of his victory dance at the tournament. Turning a beaming smile on all who offer to drink with him he says "Och, Ah'll dreenk with everyoone!" The big warrior begins to push tables together into a big seating arrangement. Once again he calls out to the crowd. "But dinnae ya heer! Ah'm rich naow! Toonaught everyoone dreenks on Mot Casns!" With this the towering man produces his twenty-five gold pieces and places them on the bar before the keeper. Giving the man his winningest smile he orders a glass of his finest liquor, and another tankard of the cheap ale he'd been drinking. With both in hand Casns turns back to the room. Lifting both up in the air he says; "Leet us praay!" He bows his great shaggy head. "Och meeghty greet Caiden Cal'leen! Ya greet bastard in yon sky! Toomarrow wea're gooin' onna trip! And Ah reely hoop wea dinnae die! Buut should wea fall upoon tha rood, Ah look forward ta seein' yoor abood, where foorever (so Ah've been toold) wea'll dreenk an dreenk an dreenk an dreenk an dreenk!" He pauses, as if forgetting something before finally shouting "AHMEN!" In one motion he drinks down the entire flagon, while simultaneously pouring out the fancy liquor before the shrine to the Accidental God.
His piece said he turns back to the bartender and most politely asks. "Ah dinnae suppoose tha yoong lady maught have tha rest oof tha naught oof soo she could dance with mae?" He leans over the counter beaming that great cheerful smile of his. "That es if'n sheal give mae tha honoor?"
As soon as Laura raises her voice for the whole bar to hear, a shiver runs down Themp's spine. In almost an instant, he has every escape possibility neatly stored in his mind, every muscle ready for a sudden jolt of energy.
And then they cheer him.
What the...? Oh... Oh. Oh!
After such an elaborate thought-process for the full minute he just stood frozen there, Themp's face suddenly locks into a mixture of great relief and joy. Somehow, the smile on his face gets even wider when Mot announces the drinks on him and promptly joins him with a tankard of his own when the big man... prays.
Themp then spends as much of his time in the bar... courting Laura and trying to get out of the bar with her.
For several long second Nme'an is shocked by his attire, or rather, by the lack of it. His heart beats more and more rapidly as he glances from face to face, sure to see disapproval and disgust. This action or mistake of his will see him expelled from the order, he is sure! But then he notices that everyone else in the hall is not the least bit disturbed by his attire. Had the tradition been changed?
'How could I have followed a changed protocol I was not even aware of?!' Nme'an thinks.
The only out of the ordinary gesture he receives at all is the slightest, most subtle nod from Prince Titus indicating that he should stop looking around the room like a slack jawed fool and lower his head so the ceremony can precede. Nme'an does so and a moment later he feels the cool steel of the Prince's blade lightly tap his left shoulder, then...
... Nme'an eyes flip open and he finds himself back in the castle guest quarters.
"Nini kuzimu ni kwamba?" he whispers to himself, as pieces of the bizarre dreams and nightmares play back in his head. The sun is not yet up, he notices, but the edges of the distant sky are starting to warm. Dawn is soon coming, and with it the new day he has waited for for so long. The chance to prove himself, the chance to save the kingdom! Between his excitement at this, and his fear at having another series of disturbing dreams, Nme'an knows there is no way he will be going back to sleep.
Instead he quietly gets up and begins preparing himself for the coming day.
The brunette barmaid beams as she hands two full tankards to patrons, and does not wait for the barkeep’s permission, who rolls his eyes and calls the cook to from the back to help with serving.
“M’name’s Rosie,” she bats her eyes up at the highlander, deep azure eyes that sparkle. Rosie lowers a brief and nervous courtesy and offers her hand to him. Her simple earth-tone dress may look like the garb of hundreds of other barmaids in Vyren, but it complements her lean and strong figure very well.
Mot tries to dance to an unfamiliar tempo, and accidentally steps on Rosie’s feet a few times. However, this only seems to help the girl relax, laugh, and even playfully stomp back (although Mot can scarcely feel her feet through his boots). By the second song, the barmaid and highlander are having a splendid time, and the two dance the night away.
Laura settles in beside Themp at a table where other patrons recount the most exciting of the tournament trials over the past few days, and toast to his success and to the health of the king. Ale, wine, and mead continue to flow, and after about two hours Themp realizes that he has heard from over half of the patrons in the bar, and such is the repetition of their praise and merriment, that he has a pretty good guess at what the other half will say before they even open their mouths. When Themp jokingly mentions this to Laura, she slowly stands and whispers something about “keeping him entertained”. Swimming in the heady din of music, laughter, and many, many cups of mead, Themp finds himself half-stumbling, half-dragging up the stairs by Laura, who urges him into one of the rooms.
At some point in the very late night (or early morning, details are fuzzy), very drunk Mot and Themp manage to find their way back to the castle. They vaguely remember servants showing them to their rooms, where they promptly fall fast asleep. Too fast, in fact. It felt as though the highlander and city local had barely closed their eyes before each of them hear a soft knocking at the door and a servant informing them that breakfast will be ready in five minutes.
Nme’an and Beorae, however, hear the servant’s first warning of breakfast, informing them they had just over one hour before the meal. By the sound of it, the servants expect the four to depart immediately after eating.
Beorae's eyes flutter open and take in the light of pre-dawn creeping in from the window. I feel like I've been asleep for half a Moon! I haven't slept that well in ages. Instantly awake and eager to start the journey on the right foot, the Druid nimbly jumps out of bed and dresses in her traveling gear and leathers before double-checking her pack. When she opens the door for the servant's first visit, she notices her new shield leaning against the wall and a large smile crosses her face as she picks it up and is surprised at its light weight. She then sits cross-legged in front of the window and meditates for an hour as the city slowly comes to life down below.
At the five minute warning, Beorae and Shark make their way down to the dining area for breakfast.
Nme'an makes his way down early, having little left to make ready thanks to his preparations the night before. Breakfast, it seems, is being held in a smaller, much less grand dining area located close to one of the castle's kitchens. Nme'an offers to help prepare the morning meal but is politely rebuffed by the kitchen staff.
"You are our guest here, so sit down and be gracious enough to be served," the kitchen's manager, an older, somewhat cantankerous women tells him.
Wisely withdrawing, Nme'an takes a seat at the table closet to the doorway and waits. With the kitchen so close by the smells of the soon to be ready breakfast are delicious. A few minutes later the other members of the party arrive and Nme'an greats each of them by name as they enter.
Waking with the persistent tapping, Mot hears the warning and extracts himself from the tangled sheets of the impressively soft bed. Nae as soft as aeh wooman though. he thinks to himself, remembering the nights, exercises. Stretching languorously he looks about the room for his kilt, only to find he was still wearing it from the night before. Though "wearing" might have been too strong a word. The folds of his clans tartan were draped loosely around his hips, tied together only by a little piece of unrecognized cloth, that on closer inspection appeared to be an item of Rosie's small clothes. Casns grins as he rights the kilt and secures it tightly. Scratching at his still exposed chest, he casts about the room before grabbing all of his gear in a big double arm load and carrying it downstairs. Following his nose he finds where breakfast is being served and drops his gear by the doorway. Finding a seat he sees two of his companions have already made it down. In a friendly tone he wishes them "Good morrow." but his volume is noticeably lower than normal, and every now and again he winces in time to the sharp noises from the kitchen area.
Grumbling, but not without a smile on his face, Themp finally gets himself up and passable for breakfast. Picking up his new armor, he carefully checks its every inch, getting familiar with every pocket, sewn-line and stud of it. Then, checking the sunlight on the wall, he realizes just short of 15 minutes have passed since he got up.
Oh, my! Hope the giant mad man didn't eat the whole table yet! passes his mind, followed by a chuckle at the memories of yesterday's hijinks.
Racing down to wherever his nose directs him, Themp finally manages to find the room everyone else is having breakfast.
He stealthily sneaks onto a chair and start eating as if he were there all along.
"Say, highlander, how the heck did we make it back here?"
Beorae and Shark enter the hall as Nme'an is chased out of the kitchen by a short, serious-looking woman. “I hope you slept well! I feel like I can take on the world—I need to get one of those beds at home!”
The druid takes a seat across from the other half-elf and they talk pleasantries until Mot arrives. She replies to his meek greeting with a hesitant, “Good morrow to you, as well. Did you have a… nice time last night?”
After a few minutes, Themp stumbles into the dining hall, obviously trying to be quiet but still a little wobbly on his feet. Beorae lifts an eyebrow at the rogue's shining new black eye, but refrains from any commentary and decides on a simple, “Good morning”. Turning back to the table, she shoots Nme'an a questioning glance.
"I did indeed sleep well. My dreams were somewhat varied, though I suspect that they were merely in response to my anticipation of this coming day," Nme'an replies.
Breakfast arrives just as Mot drifts through the doorway. The breads, meats, cheeses, and fruits neatly arranged on the three's plates all look and smell delicious. In contrast to his behavior in the royal hall, Nme'an digs in almost immediately. He still eats with a good deal more refinement than the highlander did the previous evening, but there is a decernable difference that may be attributed to change of location and attendance between the two meals. Themp shows up sometime between bites, expertly showcasing his sneakiness, but then has to wait a good five or more agonizing, tummy rumbling minutes before someone from the kitchen notices him and brings him his food.
"Did all of your items arrive?" Nme'an asks his companions.
Responding to Beorea's questioning look Nme'an shrugs as if to say "I don't know" while his expression clearly states "and I'd really rather not bring it up."
When the four are nearly finished, Mortimer Dacius enters the smaller room with a smile. He carries in his hands a very thick tome with worn leather binding. “Apologies, that I could not join you for breakfast. I was suddenly, required, to be at the king’s side for the last few hours. Rest assured, the king still lives, Father Jeromy watches over him now.”
He hobbles closer to the table, casting a brief glance over the new equipment worn by the champions. “I trust everything is to your liking? Unfortunately, I cannot stay for long. There are other duties I must see to today, duties usually left to the king, or the prince in his stead. Since neither are available, it falls to me to tend to the needs of this country and the fine folk within.”
The court wizard takes a weary breath, “It occurred to me this morning, that a few more details on your mission might be relevant.” He sets the massive book on the breakfast table and runs a wrinkled hand over the brown cover. “Those who study to learn of the higher mysteries, such as myself, and namely, Ithalgol, will use a book to inscribe the incantations necessary to cast certain spells. If this fabled spell of restoration exists, it will most likely be found in a tome similar to this one,” Mortimer raps a knuckle on the hard cover.
“Bringing his spellbook to me will suffice, since I cannot join you and identify the right page. In any case, he may have encrypted his studies to stop plagiarists from stealing his work. The brightest minds tend to do that. Fortunately, I have a knack for deciphering. Hopefully I possess enough skill to uncover the spell in time to save the king.”
He slowly picks up his tome, and meets the eyes of each of them. “Martin will show you to the stables and have you on your way shortly. Do you have any other questions?”
The druid takes a long look at the large tome and chews on her lower lip. If I only knew a tenth of what was in that book… But if I've learned anything at all, it's that fonts of magical knowledge can be dangerous for precisely that reason. Forcing her gaze back to the wizard's eyes, the druid inquires about the prince, “Should we find Prince Titus and his men on our journey, is there a specific message that you would have us deliver?”
"Has there been any word on disturbances between us and our destination? Anything we should keep an eye out for or look to avoid?" Nme'an asks, knowing even something as small as a patrol station being late to check in could be a sign of trouble.
Keeping his ears wide open for any hint, Themp continues eating, albeit slower than usual, his meal. His deliberate avoidance of gazing directly at a sunlit spot of the room is evident, as are his subtle flinches at every loud, sharp noise coming from the kitchen.
Mortimer looks to Beorae. “Other than to return to the castle at once, no, there is nothing else I need to relay to Prince Titus or his men,” he turns to Nme’an, “If the prince or any of his captains give you an order that conflicts with your mission to find the spellbook, keep in mind the greater good and use your best judgement. As dangers along the journey, the most obvious will be the tribes of kobolds on the slopes of Armaag’s Peak and the wastelands below. Use caution and stealth in the Blackcrag Pass. The king’s horses and the Order of the Dawnflower capably keep the roads free of banditry, especially in the winter when there are fewer travelers to fall prey. The wolves in yesterday’s challenge were captured from the Greysight Vale, and you must pass through the edge of those lowlands before reaching Brenan’s Crossing. There may be more wild predators between the cities and towns.”
“Other than that,” he shrugs, “ask the locals of the Crossing and Axton on any new dangers to watch for. Very few have ventured beyond the Komat Mountains, so there is little known about those lands.”
"Wait, there are going to be things worse than wolves?!" blurts Themp before he can get a hold of himself. A hasty glance around at his companions quickly recovers him of his usual cocky-ish facade, however. "I mean, kobolds I can take, but wolves are so... err.. tiresome..."
"There have always been things worse than wolves out there, that does not mean we will encounter them," Nme'an says to Themp reassuringly. Though there must be a good reason the knights of the Order have not yet returned...
"I will keep the mission in mind," Nme'an then says to Mortimer, "fortunately since both we and Prince Titius' are seeking the same goal I do not expect there to be any problems. Now, if you all will excuse me, I shall return to my room to ready my armor and collect my things. I will meet you all in the stables momentarily."
Nme'an tidies up his dishes, then returns to his guest room and begins the process of strapping on his new armor. The fit is perfect and he can feel the extra quality and care that went into the armor's construction despite its heavier weight. Noticing his old armor sitting in the corner, he retrieves a sheet of parchment from the nearby desk and pens a short note to the castle staff:
"If you could see to it that my old armor is delivered to my residence at the Order of the Dawnflower compound it would be much appreciated. If that is not possible, simply placing it in storage somewhere here among the castle grounds until I return will be more than sufficient.
-- Nme'an"
Now fully suited up in his armor, with his weapons strapped on and his backpack secured, Nme'an exits the guest room for the last time and makes his way towards the stables.
Nodding, Beorae gathers her things, noticing the added weight of the additional equipment in her bag. "Then Shark and I are ready to go to the stables. Martin, I will follow after you whenever you are ready."
As Nme'an departs and the other two start shifting their equipment, the druid tries to remember tales and stories that she might have overheard from the passers-by back in Deeproot, hoping that there might be some knowledge in those tales that could be helpful on their quest.
The big Highlander eats his fill, sparing grunts and nods in answer to all questions. As the group finished their meal he looks to his pile of gear, only just now noticing the new items. Smiling fiercely he retrieves the flail and swings it about, testing it's heft. The weapon looks like a toy in his hands, but the Urlghain warrior seems satisfied with it. Hefting the studded leather armor up, he examines it's well made seams, before pulling the whole thing over his head. Struggling for a moment Mot is finally able to squeeze into the light armor, though the leather creaks and complains as he turns and flexes. Grinning down at the metal studs, Casns grabs a rag and polishes furiously. Aost to himself he quietly says ; "Hoho, naow Ahm ae pretty pally!"
Mot continues to fiddle with his gear until everything is in place. Greatsword on back and spear in hand.
It is known that uncountable spirits linger in the mists of the Greysight Vale, and while Beorae has heard plenty of stories about them from travelers, none of the tales suggest that they are harmful, frightening as they might be.
Martin leads the champions to the stables, and finds proper mounts and saddles for them. The stablemaster informs the group that these four horses were set aside for their mission.
“Rexel and Drexel,” the stablemaster points, “are brothers from the same stallion. Daisy will do anything for an apple, and One Sock over there tends to be a bit impatient. All of them are fast and strong, and won’t spook in combat. With all that armor, and, uh, mass,” he says looking over Mot and Nmean, “you two should take the brothers.”
The chestnut siblings look to come from sturdier stock than Daisy and One Sock. Daisy’s hide is mottled grey, with a white circular blotch on her chest that vaguely resembles a flower. The black One Sock stamps his white foot and chuffs proudly.
“These are good horses,” the stablemaster adds, “Bring ‘em back, if y’can.”
Before long, the champions are ahorse and trotting out the fortress gates. They receive little fanfare at first, but by the end of the wealthy district, the city guards are struggling to keep the main road open as people rush to wish luck to their heroes. Mot and Themp even spot the elderly librarian and a black-eyed blacksmith cheering the crowd. Their mounts trot down the cobblestone road, through the various districts until it leads them to another gate in the outermost wall. The gatekeepers give the command, and the great oak doors are pulled open as the sun begins to cast the first beams on the tallest buildings in Thaleniel.
The four travelers proceed into open farmland, following the road west. Families wait at the road to cheer them as they pass, and then turn back to their livelihoods. In two hour’s time, the shining city of Thaleniel eases closer and closer into the horizon at the champion’s backs. Low, pale fog settles in as they begin crossing the lowlands proper. Fewer and fewer folk wait to see them, and farmhouses visible through the light fog grow fewer and far between, until at last the four travel alone on the packed dirt road. The clouded sun shows it to be about three hours from midday.
It feels good to be on the road in the fresh morning air, and the quiet of the valley after the hustle and bustle of the big city reminds Beorae of home. As if being named "Champion" wasn't surreal enough, the weight and importance of their quest begins to sink in as the city dwindles behind them. She tightens her grip on One Sock's reigns and sits a little straighter in the saddle.
Reaching into her bag, Beorae pulls out four crisp apples, tossing one to each of her companions and pocketing the last. “Here, for your horses when we stop. We should think about finding food and water while we can.” The druid keeps a sharp eye on the roadside for berry patches, hoping to find something suitable for their afternoon meal later on.
Horse riding was never Nme'an's favorite activity. He and the animals got along well enough while simply traveling from one place to another, but in combat things never seemed to work out for him. So much so that Nme'an actually dismounted immediately and completed one of his mounted tests on foot! Still, things were going fairly well riding along with the others through the cool morning air. Well, that is, until Beorae handed out apples to the group.
Nme'an catches the apple lobbed his way and takes a decent sized bite out of it before Beorae finishes explaining what it is for.
"Ah, my mistake," Nme'an says softly, apologizing as much to Rexel as to the druid beside him.
Beorae can hear, and at times, smell the Emestar River to her left, just south of the road to Brenan’s Crossing. Some trees and lower foliage keep her from seeing the river when it is nearest, as it winds alongside the path. Although the current is swift and strong, there is a fair chance a small, calmer pool can be found along the riverside (though the group would have to follow the river rather than the road). Such pools would be an ideal place for horses to drink from, and a potential place to camp a short distance from the road.
For a long while, Beorae finds small clusters of edible tubers, leafy stalks, and winter flowers sporadically along the roadside. After leaving the city three hours ago, the druidess gathers enough to sustain one traveler for five days. As she gathers the greens, she comes upon several tracks and droppings from vermin, and shows them to Shark. The striped beast lowers into a stalker’s gait, silently padding and sniffing after the trail of prey.
Still, it is not until an hour later Beorae spots a large mat of spoon-shaped leaves about a stone’s throw off the road. These green leathery leaves sprout clusters of bright red berries in threes and fives, resembling the shape of miniscule grapes. Although their name doesn’t come to her immediately, the druidess remembers these berries to edible, though a little bland. Many, many red berries grow from this wide, low-spreading shrub. Collecting all of them could take one person a few hours at least.
Nme'an edges Rexel off the road then dismounts so as to inspect the berries.
Completely out of his element and with no idea how to come up with food out in the open, Themp humbly follows Beorae's lead, making sure to keep himself between the tiger and the wind.
At least those damn dogs the Guard started training taught me something useful...
The diminutive berries are a little brighter than the druid's hair, but not by much, and she smiles as she plucks one and rolls it lightly between her thumb and forefinger.
Collecting a small handful of berries, Beorae looks up at her companions.“Want to see something neat?” she asks with a glint in her green eyes. Without waiting for an answer, she holds the berries in her open left palm and begins making small gestures with her right hand while speaking softly in Druidic. Once the spell is complete, she sifts through the small pile, collecting the four transmuted berries with her right hand and tossing the remainder to the ground. “Ah, perfect count!” She hands a berry each to Mot and Themp before turning to Nme'an (but not handing the berry over just yet) “Just one of these berries will sustain you as if it were a full and satisfying meal. They'll be good until this time tomorrow, so maybe hold onto it for supper.” With a wink, she drops the third berry in Nme'an's palm, “This one's for you, not the horse.” She tries to hold a steady face, but can't help but let a slight smile slip as she verbally jabs the paladin.
“The East Emestar River isn't far from here. I'm thinking that we might find it advantageous to move to the river banks and make camp off the road tonight. Might be a little less conspicuous, and the horses will have fresh water for the night. What do you think?”
Noticing a few other tracks and droppings, Beorae shows them to Shark and the cat quickly picks up the scent, stalking off into the brush in search of a meal.
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Nme’an recognizes the plant as bear’s grapes, also called kinnikinnick . A bland, mealy berry often consumed by bears and other herbivores. The berries are safe to eat, and the knight has heard of the leaves used as an ingredient to tea.
What Beorae found is known as bear’s grapes, also called kinnikinnick . A bland, mealy berry often consumed by bears and other herbivores. The berries are safe to eat, and the druid knows they can be dried and are still nutritious for a long time. The spoon-shaped leaves are also very useful. When dried and crushed, they can be brewed as a medicinal tea for the digestive tract. While she has never made the tea herself, Beorae now recalls an elder from Deeproot who brewed the kinnikinnick tea for a boy who ate a poisonous mushroom, and the child recovered in hours.
The druid also remembers the leaves used as a mild relaxant when smoked.
Shark returns to the group licking bloody teeth, happily nuzzling Beorae’s side.
"The river sounds good, as long as none of you expect me to wade in. Seeing a fully armored Paladin trying to swim isn't pretty. It involves a lot of flailing and splashing interrupted by occasional bouts of drowning," Nme'an says, agreeing with the druid.
Beorae scratches Shark between the ears when he returns. The cat is obviously satisfied with his meal as he begins to clean his fur.
Remembering the medicinal qualities of the kinnikinnick plant, Beorae turns back to the bushes and plucks a rather substantial handful of the spoon-like leaves. “I've never made it myself, but these Kinny leaves can be brewed into a tea that has some rather significant healing properties. I think it can even cure poison, although I don't know what the limits on that are.”
She considers the leaves again for a moment before stacking them neatly and tucking the bundle into her backpack.
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There is something else about these leaves, Beorae remembers Ferwald listing dried and crushed kinnikinnick leaves among a handful of other ingredients for a particular ...mixture. Ground willow bark, was one of them, but what were the others? And what did they accomplish? Ferwald only did it once, and it was so long ago...
The four continue west on the road. Over the last four hours since the discovery of bear’s grapes, the champions passed a small family pulling a burdened pack mule eastward toward Thaleniel, a pair of mounted merchants, a handful of patrolling horsemen bearing the insignia of the king’s cavalry. They also ride around a band of travelers on foot, a dozen men, half-elves, and dwarves also heading west to Brenan’s Crossing. Each of these passersby exchange polite greetings with the champions or ignore them completely, all of them not recognizing the famous four. The sun begins its descent toward the western horizon when Beorae suggests moving to the river to find a place to camp for the night.
As the long day of travel comes to an end, Beorae starts checking for spots along the river that might make a good campsite for the night.
After finding what appears to be a suitable space with a calm pool for the horses, the druid goes about collecting twigs, sticks, and dried mosses from under the surrounding trees. “I'm going to get a fire ready for later. Let's get the horses tied-up by the pool, then Shark and I are going to work on some training. We might be able to use some larger pieces of wood if anyone cares to chop some logs.” She then finds a good spot near the river and begins to prepare a small campfire. After making a circle of stones, her long fingers first arrange the smallest, driest twigs and mosses into a lightly-packed bed. She then readies the next-largest pieces of wood nearby but waits to start the fire until later in the evening.
She takes the rest of the afternoon to work with Shark on his Attack training , but his earlier hunt has obviously ruined his appetite for combat and the training doesn't go particularly well. Disappointed but not discouraged, Beorae and Shark head back to camp to set up their sleeping area under the cover of some trees and bushes next to the fire.
Nme'an selects a spot at the front of the group, placing his bedroll under a tree on the grass some twenty feet from both the pool and the flowing river. Not having a wood ax, and not willing to risk his sword, Nme'an hunts around and eventually finds a dead tree which he is able to kick over and break apart into large, fire sized chunks. He places two of them in the fire pit and sets the other few down outside the stone circle in case more are needed. With that done Nme'an assist the others with their horses, in leading them to the pool and in feeding them. He reassures Rexel that he will get a full apple next time.
As the sun begins to sink lower Nme'an pulls out the small berry Beorae handed him earlier and eyes it for a few moments before plopping it in his mouth. It doesn't taste any different than the other berries they picked in the morning, which is a bit disappointing, but before long the rumblings in his stomach die away leaving Nme'an suitably impressed.
With a snort and a start Mot wakes from where he was dozing in the saddle. Blinking back the sleep from his eyes, the mammoth Highlander notices that they've come to a halt and the others are already preparing camp. Drexel gives an impatient whinny at the heavy load remaining on his back. Mot chuckles as he slides easily to the ground, producing the earlier proffered apple. The horse snatches it quickly from his big hand, as Mot stands eye to eye with the creature. "Oho! Ah lahk thes horsie!" he says as he pats Drexels neck. Removing saddle and bags, he wipes the big horses flank as best his untrained hands allow before moving to help with camp.
Casting about around the pool, Mot tries to think back on when he would go roving with his brothers in the Highlands.
Still weary from the previous night, Themp is elated to hear Beorae's suggestion to stop and camp. Helping as much as he can (which isn't much, sadly) with setting up camp, Themp takes one last good look around before hitting the bag.
As the day begins to wind down Nme'an speaks up from across the small campfire the group has started.
"I suggest we take turns standing watch. Given the... lack of sleep apparent in both of you," Nme'an says, gesturing towards Themp and Mot, "you should get some rest now while Beorae and I take the early watches. With our superior night vision we would be more likely to spot any approaching threats early on. Later in the night those who wish to harm us are more likely to need their rest too, after all.
He thinks for a moment then says, "Ms. Sevenstone, I respect that you likely have more outdoor experience than the rest of us combined, but I have a decade of experience watching for dangers among half a dozen towns and villages. I would suggest you too get some rest now while I take the first watch."
He pauses then says to the druid, "Mbali na hilo, kuchukua mbali silaha hii inachukua muda na napenda hawapendi kufanya hivyo kwa muda mrefu iwezekanavyo."
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Beorae nods approvingly at Nme'an's suggestion of for a rotating watch, “That's a good idea, and I'm happy to take second watch.”
The druid then pulls the flint and steel from her bag and goes about starting the campfire and before long wisps of smoke turn into an open flame. She slowly adds more kindling until the fire is a strong blaze.
Going back to her bedroll, the druid lies down next to Shark and wills sleep to take her away. What I wouldn't give for another bed like the castle... At least Shark is warm and soft, and the crackle of the campfire and sound of crickets makes her feel at peace.
Beorae can see Nme'an's armor shining in the firelight as she takes one last look around the camp, “Macho yangu wakati unahitaji yangu.”
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Nme'an's approach stirs Shark and Beorae snaps awake at the cat's movement. After helping the Paladin with his armor, she makes some rounds around the camp, stokes the fire, and finds a nice tree that she can sit under and watch both the road and the camp from .
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The druid remembers Ferwald grinding three claws of a grizzly bear into a fine powder, and then adding them into the mixture of dry ingredients… which also looked like it included the pedals of thistle flower. Still, Beorae knows the recipe is not complete, and she will have to consult an older, wiser druid who hopefully knows what concoction she speaks of.
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For two hours, the night darkens quietly around Nme’an. The winter air is quiet as the cold closes in, and what creatures that do not sleep dare not break the chilly calm. The sound that fills his pointed ears is the rushing river nearby. Small splashes and gurgles scarcely make it above the surging waters, hinting at some wildlife still active in the season, but the vigilant half-elf can tell it is very small, not getting any closer, and likely harmless. He once watched the silent swooping of an owl, evidently spotting prey in the lowlands beyond the road.
A faint, distant noise draws Nme’an’s attention down the road -the direction they came from. In the distance, he sees two men crouching, and creeping up on the campsite of his companions. Clearly, neither of them can see very well, as one of the pair stalks right into a shrub. A stifled curse slips out as he stumbles to the ground. The other shushes him and continues toward those sleeping around the fire. Nme’an judges the distance of the two to be about fifty feet away as the stumbler returns to his feet. Both of them look to have simple wooden clubs one hand. The horses begin to stir.
Beorae, Themp, and Mot open their eyes from the sound of distant branches breaking, followed by a body falling to the ground and urgent whispers. Shark sleeps soundly at the druid’s side. The disturbance came from the road, nowhere close to Nme’an’s position of watching. The horses stomp and snort nervously, but do not pull against where they are tied.
By the direction the horses are shying away from, and more soft footfalls close by, the druidess suspects there to be four pairs of feet trying to sneak up on the group. The closest one is just on the other side of the trees and shrubs.
His life on the streets gets Themp's heart pounding at the sound of close-by whispers.
How did I let them get so close? Stupid tiredness...
Taking care to move as little as possible, Themp, remaining lying down but ready to leap up at any moment, attempts to survey the situation.
Nme'an prepares to call out to the bumbling men but first he silently calls upon the power of his god and Detects Evil, sweeping his gaze up and down the road.