Skane offers his bacca pouch to his fellow Northman.
"I'll take what's left har!!"
Thanks!
Hack pulls out a small pipe, loads it and returns the pouch to Skane. After grabbing an ember from the fire, he sits back and enjoys the smoke with Skane.
Hack and Rosslyn, after a bit of discussion decides to place camp a bit further away from the tracks and game trails, hopeful that most of the forest creatures would shy away from human activity and let a uneventful night come to pass.
A short foray later, the pair of them manage to scrounge up a small cache of wild berries and offers them to the rest of the party.
Silar politely declines, before he rummages into his sack and begins to chew on some dried beef jerky sullenly.
Night falls steadily as the air is scented with vanill from the warrior's pipes. Sounds of forest creatures are heard during the night, tensing up each of those assigned to the watch at time, but sensing tabac laced air, the creatures quickly veer away.
As a good part of the night passes through, Betony and Thistledown gets on with their watch. Thistledown stops before sniffing the air and soon the morning is greeted by the fat drops of precipitated rain.
Silar, sleeping out in the open space before the campfire curses as he gets up and huddles beneath his cloak, intent on keeping the wet out. The campfire begins a battle with the rain, hissing and sputtering in a bid to survive.
Betony and Thistledown are pretty miserable come morning. Clanking around in cold wet armor and trying to saddle a soaked wolf.
"I guess we try again today, but this rain won't help tracking them. If we don't catch-up soon, we likely won't as long as they are mounted."
Wesh says "I agree and this rain is not making it easier."
Hack wakes, and he immediately begins to look for the tracks again.
Perception:
If he can locate the tracks, he will attempt again to track the enemies.
Survival:
Skane stands stripped to the waist, enjoying the inclement weather as he preps his gear and sharpens his ax and chakrim.
"Har! Why so ömurlegur friends? This is a fine morning in the North!Hoi Hack! Any luck with the rekja?"
Hack walks back to the forest trail after packing up camp, with the rest of the group solidly trailing behind.
The evidence of a large group of horses passing through is not something that could be washed over a couple of days, but with the ongoing rain tracking them through the forest trail would prove more challenging over time.
Spotting the hoof marks, Hack signals the party onward.
The forest trail continues on winding for a few more miles. It goes round a thicket before suddenly widening and ahead the forest edge gives way to a well worn path.
The rain, a light misting by now, occasionally parts way for the streaming of a weak midday sun.
It is obvious from a quick glance that the path is often used with wagon trails and other draft animals miss-mashing their tracks.
Now fully armed and armoured, Skane casts a grim eye over the tracks;
:
"Feh! Southerners! A blind man could follow them..."
Aye Skane! Easy swaðu to follow, for us, eh?
Survival:
Wesh says "I think even I could follow these but watch out of they took a way off and hope we continue to follow the wagon wheels."
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A recent set of wagon wheels head Northwest along the trail, from the deep tracks, it seems well encumbered. The tracks that you have been faithfully following however, is desperately overlapped by the newer wagon and its accompanying riders.
The trail feels oft traveled and a good chance it would lead to some significant location or settlement.
Moving significantly faster, now the way being much clearer and the wagon tracks easier to follow, the group moves briskly covering a respectable 6 miles. The light misting rain breaks to let a red afternoon sun, highlighting in the distance, a stalled wagon with a pair of grazing oxen at the side of the road.
Hack approaches the wagon cautiously while drawing his Axe.
Perception:
Unsure of whether this would be an ambush for a passing caravan or someone at rest, Rosslyn scans the trees for signs of people.
Wesh staying a little bit behind also approaches the wagon.
Knowing the others are keeping a close watch, Betony pads forward on Thistledown.
"Hail there! Are you travelers in need of assistance. We are armed but do not want to frighten you. We look for news of other travelers and bandits on the road."
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As one of the oxen looks up at the approaching group, it speaks with a deep low voice. "Hail and well met travelers. We are but simple traveling oxen. Please don't hurt us. We would be tough to eat anyway." The oxen then continues to munch on grass. The other oxen takes a break from eating and speaks with a tenor voice. "Our travelers are hurt and could use assistance. Please put away your weapons and walk forward in peace." The oxen moves to a greener area of grass before continuing to eat.
"Hey Thist, you should ask them how they learned to talk."
They turn and walk back to the group. "Their oxen say that they have hurt people up there. They are travelers and don't want trouble and want us to put away weapons."
She pulls out her banner with the wolf in front of a great tree. She affixes it to Nettle, and rides forward holding it upward in the breeze.
What kind of witchcraft is this?
Hack brandishes his weapon and turns in all directions looking for someone or something that is causing animals to speak.
Perception:
There are blood stains on the trail, collected in a few patches here and there have mostly been swept and scraped over with dirt surrounding the static wagon. A few new mounds of earth has been upturned recently not far from the trail with markers made of wood wrapped with strips of white cloth.
The wagon itself looks intact though some arrows are seen protruding from its woodwork. The gentle sway of the vehicle indicates something is moving within and occasional labored breathing is heard inside.
Judging from the amount of oxen droppings around, the wagon has been here awhile.
Wesh asks "Did they attack this wagon?"
I hear someone or somethin' inside the wagon...
Hack opens the wagon.
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With arms raised, "Я нашел их таким образом. Я не делал этого. Пожалуйста, не бейте меня." Seeing no response, "Ég fann þá þessa leið. Ég gerði það ekki. Vinsamlegast ekki meiða mig." If this still gets no response, "I found them this way. I didn't do it. Please don't hurt me."
Seeing recognition on the nearest face, "My name is Siral Harthliss. We stumbled upon these travelers. They were attacked by some brigands. We've been trying to help them. So who are you?"
As the door opens, Hack is confronted by the Hawk tattooed man who tries to communicate unsuccessfully until he settles on Common. Non threateningly he stoops over the bodies of 4 wounded men, obviously tending to them before he was interrupted.
All is quiet as the man introduces himself and awaits for an exchange.
Wesh says "We are an adventuring party tracking after a bandit king named Lucien. Did you get any discriptions of the people who attacked the travelers? they might be related as we were tracking the bandits down this road."
Betony looks around curiously, "Who is we?"
She rubs Thist's neck with a smile, "We are the Brambleknight, Betony and Thistledown. That is Wesh a follower of Desna, a trio of northmen Skane, Björn, and Hack, the ladies are Rianna and Rosslyn, and...and Silar was around here somewhere."
Getting closer, "Wesh, you should look at this. There are people in there hurt."
Wesh statrs tending to the wounded men to see how badly they are hurt.
Skane studies the newcomer with interest;
"The bandit king has hair the colour of spilt blod... Have you seen or heard hide nor hair o' him?"
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"We are sorry, we did not see who did this. We came upon these poor people after the bandits had already been here. Two are in the ground over there." Siral points to two fresh mounds of earth. "We have been so busy trying to help that we haven't taken the time to find out too much of who did this. Their leader says that they were ambushed by mounted bandits. He doesn't remember much, but he believes they headed in that direction. Towards Holmstead."
Siral yips towards the woods, a few moments later a small fox comes out from behind the trees carrying a small coney. Siral gives Brambleknight a short bow, "We are Shriikirri-Quah, Siral (He points to himself) and Ralyip. (He points to the fox) And now we have fresh food. I was going to make some for those injured. I'm not sure we would have enough for everyone."
As Wesh checks on the resting men, he sees that they are on the mend. It could be seen were Siral had done his part in aiding their recovery, Wesh does some readjusting of the applied bandaging before standing back, satisfied.
One of the injured stirs, and in a weakened raspy state slurs out,
Please, do us no harm. before he continues to slumber on.
Silar peers into the wagon. Hearing Siral's comments he takes a seat inside and mumbles about rest and hunger.
Hack searches in the direction pointed, and he tries to pick up the trail of the mounted bandits.
Perception:
Then to follow said trail.
Survival:
Hack notices the clumps of horseshoe prints leading up the path, towards the mentioned settlement but soon he finds the trail indistinguishable from the other trails imprinted on the path.
"Ja"
Wesh says "Best of luck on your journey back"
Rosslyn looks around, a little confused. "I guess you did the talking-ox thing, then? Because if I were a bandit, the talking oxen would be the first thing I'd steal."
Rosslyn offers hugs to Rianna and Bjorn. "Safe travels."
They pad over and give Betony gives Rianna a hug while Thistledown licks her hand. They try the same with Bjorn, but both just end up with faces full of fur and beard. "Be safe."
Silar picks himself up from his slouch before indicating that he too would join the caravan back once the wounded have come round. He stands there, prodding the unconscious men before giving up, each paying no heed to his attempts.
With the sky turning crimson, announcing the arrival of dusk, Silar decides to get up and gather some firewood, before arranging them and lighting it up with a an arcane gesture.
Paying no heed to the others, he pilfers the wagon before sitting next to the fire with an apple in each hand.
Wesh asks "Are we sure we can follow them even when it gets dark or may they be too far away? Do the tracks seem to be getting older?"
Skane walks up to his jotunn-sized shield brodir, gripping the big mans shoulders with a grin;
"Fara þú verða. Neitun gestur munu dvöl í einn staður fyrir alltaf. Ást vilja vera glataður ef þú sitja of langur á a vinátta eldur."
At the end of his wisdom, Skane's smile becomes a little forced, then he slaps his fellow vikingr shoulders and nods to the gypsy that won his heart;
"Take care of this bear lítill dansari... By Hel, something in min auga..."
The scarred vikingr turns away, wiping his pained eyes
The crackling of the fire as Silar adds more wood to it provides some environmental sound with occasional crunches as Silar devours his apple.
Wesh says "we would just be too tired to fight them if we ran into Lucien after marching more"
Wesh says "Sounds good to me"
The night falls like a dark shroud over the stalled wagon. As darkness grows, the campfire grows even brighter as night grows older. The oxen take advantage of the heat as they move in closer and finally settle nearby, chewing crud from their supplementary stomachs.
Morning rises, the night passing uneventfully. The unconscious men stir about and soon they huddle around the dawn campfire shakily as they gather the heat and kink off the cold.
They look on curiously at the wolf riding gnome patrolling the last watch, but unaccustomed to the small gnome, keep numb but nods respectfully as she continues her final patrol.
A thoughtful idea makes one of the men retrieve a portion of smoked meat from within the wagon before toasting it on the fire and offering a few cuts to the prowling wolf.
Hack stretches and moves to the side to relieve himself.
He returns to the others.
Ok, where to? The tracks were hard t'pick up, but I can try again.
Hack again tries to follow the trail that he perceived.
Survival: