A new slew of wounds upon its hide, delivered by Chana, Dro'gan, and Snips, serve to fuel the manticore's hungry, prideful anger. However, he is overcome by the font of magical colors produced by Amandine. The spray of motes fills the Iron Lash's eyes and nostrils, sparing you from his wrath if only for a critical moment.
The beast is badly bloodied, and despite its fleetingly paused fury, shows signs of weakening.
Feeling the magic giving him an advantage, Bartolo raises his hammer above his head, before bringing it down onto the Iron Lash's ribcage with fury, the blow shaking even the great beast's hide. "Well, I've rarely had anyone eager to stand up after the first blow. Seems the beast needs a little more dissiasion!"
Dro'gan slices and chops at the creature again!
Dro'gan nearly opens the manticore's stomach with a swing of his falcata. However, it is one more doughty swing of Bartolo's hammer that lays the beast low. The Iron Lash collapses into a shuddering heap, unconscious and bleeding profusely upon the mossy ground.
Wiping away the blood from his hands, Bartolo shoulders the hammer with a wide grin, though he winces midway as his wounds continue bleeding on the ground. "Hah! Sweet dreams, my bestial friend.", he laughs, bending over to take a deep breath. "A captured beast like that is sure to yield us not only money,", he waves his hand dismissively, "but also put us as capable hunters amongst the local hunters."
Wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, he closes his fist as words of arcane power echo from his mouth, a shimmering, melodic glow. While still bruised, battered and bleeding, the noble seems to be running on adrenaline. "Lady Amandine, Miss Chana? I'll extend the offer of mending your wounds, in the hope someone does the same to me in the future." His mouth opens to show his bloodstained teeth. "Though I'll also be grateful, shall you tell me to be selfish. I can't remember the last time I had my hide as scoured."
Amandine walks back to the beast when it goes down. Her eyes are tearing from the pain of the claw rake.
She goes to its head, finds an ear, and leans in close.
"Fooled you twice."
Amandine turns to the others.
"So, who's going to kill the thing?"
Dro'gan steps up, his face a mask of anger held back. He then lays into he creature's neck with a single mighty swing.
As a full-round action, you can use a melee weapon to deliver a coup de grace (pronounced “coo day grahs”) to a helpless opponent. You can also use a bow or crossbow, provided you are adjacent to the target.
You automatically hit and score a critical hit. If the defender survives the damage, he must make a Fortitude save DC 10 + damage dealt) or die. A rogue also gets her extra sneak attack damage against a helpless opponent when delivering a coup de grace. Delivering a coup de grace provokes attacks of opportunity from threatening opponents. You can’t deliver a coup de grace against a creature that is immune to critical hits. You can deliver a coup de grace against a creature with total concealment, but doing this requires two consecutive full-round actions (one to “find” the creature once you’ve determined what square it’s in, and one to deliver the coup de grace).
"Now were done. Mount the head in a local tavern and it will gain you and the location notoriety for years. Bartolo? Think you can write a catchy song about the fight? Just...keep my part out of it."
Going to the rear of the creature, Dro'gan removes the end of the creatures tail with his weapon, and collects the many metallic spikes set upon it for possible later use.
Amandine finds a place to sit down for a moment.
"Go ahead and take care of yourself Bartolo. I'll be fine."
Dro'gan's falcata proves its sharpness, for with a single strike he cleaves through the manticore's throat and jugular. It is only a moment more before the terrifying beast, scourge of Meratt County and the Verduran, bleeds out dead.
Once he has gathered the tail spikes he cleans and puts away his magical belt. He then walks back towards the hunters and their way home.
He stops at Amadine's location and comments without looking at her, anger finally under control and mostly dissipated.
"You should be dead with that stunt."
He then quickly walks away without any comment further. Once he reaches his walking stick he will pick it up again. once he gets to the hunters he will ask them to retrieve the creature's remains and return it to town with the ladies' instructions.
While still a hawk, Chana speaks in a raspy voice "Strong as it was, six against one is right poor odds for anyone." She looks to Bartolo "I won't say no to healing. Thanks."
Once Dro'gan removes its head, she comments "Mounting the head? That's the kind of thing nobles too, isn't it. We 'ave to do it if we want to rest to be impressed?" She sounds like the idea more than a little disgusting to her.
"Anyone want the rest?" She points at the body with her beak.
Wincing for a moment when the creature's death is suggested, Bartolo sighs, then shrugs with a grin. I suppose a trophy of our deeds might be better. Especially if the local see their terror dead. Seeing Dro'gan seethe, he gives the man a long look, before bursting out in laughter. "I've never met a man so angry to be alive, my friend! I may just add that."
Raising an eyebrow, whether one of respect, or curiousity, at Amandine's refusal, he turns to Chana. His hand glows with harmonious, lively buzz. "And I'd be happy to help, Lady Chana! You dispelled my thoughts that my fighting styles were unorthodox amongst nobility. Ha! Grand!", he says, as the hawk's wounds close. Pointing the same magic at himself, the worst of the brunt of the Iron Lash's attack disappears. "I could care less about the head and its display, Lady Chana. Though I'm sure the tanners and craftsmen of Merrat would love the chance to use their skills and make a few excellent cloaks from manticore hide. Give them something to brag amongst the other tradesmen of the land, no?" Ushering the two hunters to him, he starts lifting the Lash's body on his back. "We could strap it atop the carriage?"
Tapping his chin, he turns towards the hawk. "I'd hate to keep in nature more than this brisk event, though one wonders, if the Lash has terrorised the countryland for years, there are perhaps the bodies of those hunters less skilled. Or less resilient. We may want to give them and their families rest, before the bandits of the land hear word and rummage through the beast's den."
"Unorthodox?" Chana picks at her feathers with her bloody beak, one eye on the ranger. "You use what you have. Everything you have. And not let up until your enemy is never fighting back."
She eyes the corpse of the Iron Lash with interest, but when the hunters arrive early, she holds back from digging in for a meal. No sense scaring them. Or ruining the hides or whatever it is people would want out of it. Instead she settles on the ground and focuses to reduce Snips back into a single rat, who then climbs up onto her back.
"Right Oliv, can't let than den go unlooted." She whirls up into the air and looks for the path of carnage that the Iron Lash left behind while it was marauding through the forest.
The Iron Lash's carcass serves as a macabre hub for your search, radiating out from the site of his last hunt to, in turn, hunt for his lair. This hunt proves fruitless, unfortunately. You find rabbit warrens and thickets that once served as dens for boars that were consumed by the manticore, but nothing larger or more significant is discovered.
After an hour or two, you remember something that Onora said previously:
"Every couple of seasons, I'll hear about some thorp that lost almost their entire herd to wolves, mountain lions, or worse. Also, every high summer, the Iron Lash flies in from the Verduran to hunt before leaving at the first frost."
Thus, you realize that the Iron Lash kept its lair in the Verduran Forest, several leagues to the northwest, while Meratt County served merely as its hunting grounds.
Chana wings back over to the rest of the group and settles on the Iron Lash's corpse. She idly picks strips of flesh from its open wounds and guzzles small nuggets down. "Time to give this thing's head to Onora then? She'd appreciate it, yeah?" her uncanny voice sounds clear despite her full gullet.
Olivia's healing touch stops Amandine's bleeding and eases the pain of her wound enough for her to agree to tramping around in the forest for while. She quickly tires of searching though.
When it occurs to Chana that the manticore did not lair in the vicinity Amandine groans.
"Let's get the head back to civilization. And I could use a couple of brandies to take the edge off. These gashes are throbbing."
The others will find Dro'gan pretending to rest under a tree about half-way back to the road. He stands as they approach.
"Are we through with mucking about in the muck? I for one need a bath. Ladies first of course."
He bows gentlemanly as he finishes his statement, waving to the path home.
Smiling at Olivia's comments, Dro'gan chides her carefully.
"I certainly appreciate your adventuring spirit Lady Olivia, but we must keep our focus on the prize: A stable and safe country. Deviation will only lead to disaster. Lion's Rule#2:A sharp mind is the sharpest Blade of all."
Dro'gan shrugs.
"You want to treat this situation like a walk in the park, be my guest. I'm just an advisor and servant...for now. But what happens if your new home is attacked while you are gone? Say it is burned down because some petty lord didn't like the way you looked at him and heard you may be gone for a little while? Or the tax man swoops in and hits the little township nearby harder than last time? Or if you fall in that distant forest and a wolf pack eats your head off? You don't have to live the rest of your life in this location m'lady, unless you get killed here, but don't think for a second running off to play adventurer will not get you anything but hurt in some manner, figuratively, if not literally. There is a time and place for everything. Once you all become famous around here and have political protections and stature, running off to hunt distant treasures or stop distant threats will only expand you narrative. However, for now you need to consolidate your base of operations. Fortify and solidify your political friends, and finish sizing up your enemies...all of them...because they are many I fear. You ladies were all at the murder spree in the palace correct?"
The discussion of your responsibilities as nobles, even if you presently sit quite near the bottom of the hierarchy, provides a welcome distraction through the grisly work of separating the Iron Lash's head from its leonine shoulders. Having been almost entirely bled clean by Dro'gan's finishing stroke, there is no terrible font of blood to spray forth, but that does not mean the work is a walk in the garden. The stinking gore leaves you very grateful for prestidigitive magic to mask or replace the odor.
With the help of Hawker and Blythe, who each wear expressions of awed astonishment, you haul the severed manticore's head - the size of a barrel - out of the forest. With rope and ingenuity, you secure the trophy to the rear of your coach.
"On these subjects, Dro'gan and Bartolo, we must get you briefed about what we have done and what we know so far. We'll begin tomorrow."
Turning to the two hunters, Bartolo scratches his head. "My good men! Perhaps you can tell other hunters in Lord Okerra's retinue of the beast's downfall. Leaving the body here and taking merely a trophy is insulting to both good huntsmanship, and good mercantilism. And manticore hide boots may be the talk of the town."
A hearty laugh leaves Bartolo's mouth as Dro'gan voices his worries. "As someone who's never paid much attention to history, I know this - history is done by the bold and the foolish. Those who are too cautious, it forgets, as they tend to fail to achieve anything of note." Shifting the grip on his hammer. "Though, there is some merit in your sentiment, as much as the blood pumps when one fights, to take care of the town is our main objective, if not our main goal." Turning to Amandine, he nods. "Good then! I'd feel a lot better if I'm not treated like a mushroom!"
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"You make it sound like all of Meratt will collapse and fall upon us the moment we so much as sigh in relief. I don't think we have knives to our back, and quite frankly, lingering on 'what ifs' is a poor way to get anything productive done. We need wealth, badly. To improve our holdings, to hire people to deal with problems that we don't have time or skills for, and to sway people to our side. I think travelling to the forest in search of a hoard is worth a day that we don't have anything scheduled for. If you want to stay home and draw lines in red yarn, and make your own tin hat, you can do so."
At the mention of a briefing, Dro'gan merely nods as if it were not needing to be said.
At Bartolo, Dro'gan replies easily as he ducks yet another branch in his path.
"You miss my point Sir Blacksheep. I'm not talking about caution. I'm really talking about 'Focus.' Focus on your targets and goals. Nothing about what you are doing now is cautious. It a dangerous political game you are jumping into. I doubt I need to remind any of you ladies about that."
Chana alights atop the coach, rolling her hawk eyes at Dro'gan's doom and good speech about how getting out and doing things was too risky. The strange man would rather have everyone sit around and talk all day, maybe all night too. Talk to every single noble in the whole county.
Chana had had enough talking after a few days of that dreadful jubilee. The hunt had been a bit of a moment to relax, but it had been far too short, and if she was being honest, easier than running from people tryin' to kill you in the Narrows. No one had even lost a finger.
When Olivia responds to Dro'gan, Chana lets out a squawk of approval before adding quietly "Sittin' and talkin's fine, but spinnin' webs all day is wot got the nobles of Taldor into the rotten state they're in. Sittin'. Talkin'. Countin' their money. Doin' nothin' but jabbin' and each otha' with words. Sendin' otha' people ta do the fightin'."
"What Meratt needs is nobles gettin' out and doing fings. With the people, I reckon. To help the people, if we can. We can inspire the nobility round these parts that way, I figga."
Dro'gan shakes his head sadly again.
"Why do you assume I'm only referring to talking Chana? Focusing on your goal, means finding and meeting your goal, however you can do it. That could include assassinations or similar unseemly measures. If needed."
Amandine stays out of the debate. The way she sees it they don't really need a philosophy of what people are like or what they should be doing. The goal is set, do whatever it takes to help Princess Eutropia take the throne. At the moment that means gaining possession of Birdsong Palace.
Everything else is subordinate, simply a means to those ends. If talking over tea does it, then talking over tea it will be. Improve Stachys? As wonderful as it would be to do so, only if it furthers their goals. "Should's" and "ought to's" can't matter more than success.
Isolated as Meratt is, it could be easy to forget the larger world outside. But the larger world is not standing still while they're in Meratt. High Strategos Pythareus has an army. Princess Eutropia does not. Sides are being taken and alliances are coalescing. Princess Eutropia needs revenue to influence the course of events, and the faster she has it the better she will be able to bend all those things to her advantage.
When they have dropped off the hunters Amandine asks "does anyone know if it would be better to stop again at Baron Okerra's estate to thank him, or to send a letter of thanks by courier once we're back at Betony Manor?"
Chana squawks out in protest "That weren't wot you were talkin' about earlier." but she lets the topic drop when Amandine asks her question.
Dro'gan waves off Lady Chana with a deferring motion.
"My mistake. I must have misunderstood what you were trying to say Chana. That 'speed' spell I use leaves my ears buzzing for a while sometimes."
Later he replies to Amandine's question, nodding appreciatively of the idea.
"Either should suffice. Doing nothing might offend him of course, but I doubt it. He doesn't seem the type? As a former soldier himself, I think he would fully understand us heading back to the manor after fighting and killing the Lash."
The hunters return home on the edge of Pensaris, bringing back both silver courtesy of Okerra and a whopper of a tale courtesy of the Betonys. During your previous visit, Okerra cautioned against dropping by noble homes unannounced. While you doubt that he would mind a visit simply to say thank you, it seems best to err on the side of caution. Besides, as a man of action, he is probably more concerned that the beast has been dealt with, rather than worrying about polite formalities.
You return to your home to find it, thankfully, exactly as you left it. Despite your worries, no rabble of peasants nor gang of thuggish taxmen are gathered outside. The estate, as well as Calix, remain safe under the guardianship of Greenly, Photinè, and the domovoi.
Speaking of whom, Photinè - in her volunteered role as major domo and secretary - offers two messages that arrived in your absence.
The first is merely a postcard on fine stationary from Dame Crabbe, reminding you of your appointment for tea at her own estate, four days hence.
The second, however, was a visit from Onora. She asked whether the Betonys and their coterie have settled into their home enough that they would be ready to relieve her of duty as honorary tribune.
"In most Taldan counties, a tribune is a role somewhat comparable to a mayor, usually fulfilled by minor nobles," Photinè explains. "The most notable responsibility is passing judgment on suspected criminals, so it seems likely that Miss Piscum has a criminal detained for us - or rather, you - to deal with."
Smiling at the news from Onora, Dro'gan points to his head.
"Smart lady. Sounds like a perfect chance to let the locals get to know you all, and see if they might start to trust you. Assuming you handle this matter carefully and intelligently. Now excuse me for a bath and a nap. If you have need of me or Gandro, simply let me know."
Dro'gan then casually wanders off, into the bowels of the mansion and whatever hidey-hole he as attached himself to.
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When Dro'gan leaves, Olivia mumbles "I still don't understand the whole Dro'gan Gandro thing. Does he have some sort of mind-sickness, or ..." She glares at the ceiling in frustration.
"I should not gossip about my allies. Inheritor's Rule #6: I will guard the honour of my fellows, both in thought and deed, and I will have faith in them."
"Ha! I'd speculate that anyone with our goals may indeed be of unorthodox mental state, Lady Espinosa, present company included.", Bartolo replies smiling at the Code. "Criminals in rural lands like these can be anything you can imagine, so I, for one, won't be ruminating as to what they are." Leaning back onto his chair with a croak, rubbing at his bruised ribs, he snaps his fingers at the rest. "Ah! Perhaps as a point of gratitude, we can present the Lash's head to Miss Piscum to mount in her establishment. A fine present, and will sit well with the good folk of Stachys. And I could do with a drink or twelve." Standing up as quickly as he crashed down on the chair, he cracks his back with a thundering noise, picking up the hammer at his side. "I'll go get ready, and shall you need your armour mended, do say so. I deplor sitting on my hands!"
Now back in human form, Chana shrugs helplessly after Dro'gan separates from the group. "I mean, sure we've got enemies everywhere, but that doesn't mean we gotta go whippin' ourselfs up into a frenzy about it." She snorts "Dro'gan's a paranoid sort. I remember seein' some like 'im back when I was little." She doesn't voice much more, but she thinks about how paranoid people in the Narrows behaved. They survived, yes, but were so pent up that they were always a bundle of nerves. Not a good way to live.
"Yeah, let's take the head to Onora and see what this criminal's about. I don't know about dictating laws and sentences and all that. But we can 'ear her out at least." Chana cracks her knuckles. If someone had been messing with the town, maybe a good beating would be a fitting punishment.
"Yes, I believe the head should go to be displayed in Stachys. It's proof positive the people of Meratt will no longer need to worry about the beast."
"Perhaps we could convince Onora to allow us to consult with her if we must start act as legal authorities. We could emphasize our desire for a smooth transition so people remain confident the law will be upheld in the ways the understand and expect."
Chana nods at Amandine's last statement. "I reckon the people'd be awful skeptical if a bunch of nobles that came out of nowhere started makin' pronouncements. If we're sayin' the same things as Onora, that might work better to not raise any hairs."
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Olivia is far more familiar with the operation of courts-martial, particularly the clearly delineated protocols proscribed by Iomedeans, rather than the byzantine system of civil law that is observed in Taldor. Fortunately, the information that Bartolo provides indicates that her experience may not be too far removed from what will be expected of them.
Beyond the cities of Taldor, in the countryside the nobles are afforded a very broad leniency when it comes to judging crimes and meting out punishments. Upon your own lands, as nobles you have almost the autonomy of a true monarch. While in theory, Count Lotheed forms the first step in a complicated hierarchy above you that could revisit and redress the judgments you make, in practice such a thing is all but impossible. Barring a particularly severe crime, such as slaying one of the count's taxmen, no one in a higher position of power will likely ever take an interest in the court you hold.
Strolling down to Stachys, you find Onora atop the Wolf's Whisker. She busily, frustratedly hammers new shingles into place upon the roof. Pausing to wipe her sweaty brow, she notices your arrival and drags herself down the wobbling ladder propped against the pub. Beneath the dirt and sweat on her face, you notice that her left eye is swollen and bruised.
"I'm glad you got my message. Old Corker's ankles were swollen this morning, which means rain's coming. I got Lucinia sleeping off her latest row in the backroom," she jerks a thumb towards the pub behind her, "And I don't have time to patch my roof and deal with her trouble making."
As Onora goes on to explain, as honorary tribune she has traditionally used her pub in lieu of a courthouse or town hall. Holding a trial takes most of a day - hence her relief with ridding herself of the added responsibility - and usually draws most of the village as audience.
"Seeing a trial's often the only entertainment to be found around here. They especially like seeing hated folks get their comeuppance or seeing a bit of blood for particularly nasty punishments. Most of the time, I just lock 'em up in the pillory for a day or two. That works for most of the small, common crimes. Don't have the ability to imprison anyone. Banishment's also a possibility, though I've never used it since I couldn't really enforce it myself.
"Paying a fine is find for property crimes, though that may be like bleeding a turnip for most of the hard-up folks around here. When we have a thief, a lot of folks call for their hand to be lopped off, but I've done my best to avoid doling out any dismemberments over the years. Of course, I've heard that such punishment is common on Baroness Voinum and Count Lotheed's lands.
"And I won't lie, for some particularly nasty bits of work, I have had to order a couple hangings over the years. I've only resorted to that for murderers, but still...I'm certainly not proud of it."
She leads you inside the pub and unlatches the door to the backroom. You can hear the occupant's snoring even before Onora opens the door.
A brown-haired woman lies sprawled upon the floor, a small puddle of drool collected by her head. Occasional groans issue from her open mouth.
"Lucinia Mag," Onora introduces the figure on the floor, "Local drunk and troublemaker. It seems like she's under my roof every night, either out front as a customer or in back as a problem.
"Most recently, she started a brawl in here last night, decked me hard," Onora says, gesturing towards her black eye, "And ran off with my night's take, along with a bottle of Oldlaw. While you were out hunting, I found her passed out in Jo Sini's barn."
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Olivia furrows her brow as she looks at the passed out woman. She knows what the repercussions would be in Lastwall, which were strict, but more manageable than at the Worldwound's front.
"So assault of a Tribune, and petty theft. She has a history of this behaviour. What else can you tell us of this Lucinia? Does she work, is she especially pious, have a husband and children, and how long has she been acting this way? Also, does this Jo Sini have anything to do with her actions? Have you had to punish her before?"
Having followed the Ladies' group at a slight distance in his 'normal' dirty and stained traveling clothes, Dro'gan tries to blend in with the crowd at the alehouse, and try to get the local people's opinions on what really happened with Lucinia, and some of her history. He wants to leave nothing to chance on the Ladies' first work as local judges. The better informed they are, the more easily they can make balanced a decision, and therefore gain the local's respect and trust more easily.
-Determine the best people to talk too about the situation.
-To get people talking about Lucinia and what rumors they've heard of and real facts they might know about her.
-Try to determine how people REALLY feel about the woman, regardless of what they actually say.
Chana follows right behind Olivia and a little to the side. The idea of enforcing any kind of laws is more than foreign to her. After all, she's been on the wrong side of one law or another more times in her life than she can count. Especially in the Narrows, where it seemed sometimes that they would think of new rules on the daily.
However, the woman in question here turns out to be less of a criminal and more of a lout. After Olivia asks her questions, Chana comments "This Mag sounds like a right pain to deal with." She rubs a hand in her hair. "Best put her to some kinda work, get her out of the bottle, yea? That or drive 'er right out of here." Realizing that she's speaking her mind rather than offering anything "proper" as a noble, she shuts her mouth and lets Olivia continue her questioning.
"I've never seen her work," Onora states, crossing her arms indignantly. She casts one last judgmental look upon the dosing lout before closing the door anew. "She's got no family that's ever been seen around these parts, and if she prays, she keeps it to herself.
"You don't need to worry about Jo. Other than the misfortune of finding an unwanted occupant in her barn, she's got nothing to do with this matter."
As locals flock to the Wolf's Whisker to see the trial, Dro'gan plies them for information. They prove quite eager to gossip about the local troublemaker.
Most locals are sick of her, especially since she's shown no willingness to reform. None of the previously issued punishments have had any effect, other than perhaps driving her out of town to nurse her wounded pride for a couple weeks before returning just as bad as ever.
"Public service could work," Onora adds with a shrug. "Never tried it before since we couldn't afford to assign anyone to supervise the offender."
"Ah. This isn't an average hoodlum.", Bartolo retorts as the drunken snores of the intoxicated bandit reach his ears. "This is an incompetent hoodlum." Rubbing a hand in his beard, he leans on the wall. "Frankly, I agree with Chana. If she can't or won't work, she'd be best out of our collective hair. Execution leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and leaving her here to abuse the locals is bad for everyone." Shrugging, Bartolo turns to Onora. "On that, the mathematics don't check out. Why make it one person's job to overlook another one who doesn't want to work in the first place? If we had a slew of petty criminals, then of course."
Sighing, he looks around for a drink for a brief moment, before sighing. Well that's looking like a long affair. "I say we wait for her to wake, and give her a chance to speak. I'm not one for speculations of this variety."
After stewing about the locals for a while he pulls Chana and Amandine aside a little later in a shady place to give them what he learned of the woman.
"Whatever her actions, she has hurt the locals for years, but the truth is she is a minor pest at worst. They have tried exiling her a couple of times and she just comes back. She's a petty thief and a drunk. If you ask my opinion... ONE: You could put her to work on a civic project of some sort. Keep her locked up at night until she serves her sentence. If in a few weeks she shows repentance, then offer her a job doing something with responsibility to keep her sober and productive. Or...TWO: You could talk to her and try to find out WHY she does these things. She might have a history here worth exploring. Everybody has a story. Heck, you have any idea how many Lion Blades started out from a drunk tank? Truthfully, if she were any older, I would worry should could be my mother, although I never met the whore."
If the women look at him funny, he shrugs.
"No insult meant to my mother or whores. I was told she was a whore in the narrows. I never met her."
Chana looks at Dro'gan side-eyed "You think you can suss out why she's a drunk and a loon? If you think so, yeah, lets try it."