Cyrioul you know he is lying.
I swear. I was just recruited. I no nothing. I swear.
Turning to the others, Cyrioul shakes his head. "He is avoiding justice by lying." He turns back to the bandit with a hard stare, and says, "It would be best for you to speak the truth."
"Well, then, that's one point against you gettin' out of this alive. Let's start simply. Give me your name, and the name of the leader of this group that came to the Trading Post."
I... I... they will kill me if I tell. I won't say nothing until I know my fate if I tell you.
Derren raises his eyebrows at Carina's hair. That's...she's not human. Should've known from the eyes. Pretty, though! After a few moments of gawking, he pulls himself together. "Miss, that's quite a trick with your hair, and the magic. Think you could clean me up as well? It was a long, sweaty journey, and I think I've probably got blood on my jacket somewhere."
Whether she does or not, Derren continues, flopping down onto one of the beds and patting the blanket next to him. "Bah! This little band didn't put a scratch on us, and we never used our full strength against them. Never killed a man before today, but I enjoy a good fight, and that one barely slaked my thirst. And speaking of thirst..." He reaches for his flask, grimacing as he shakes it with no sound. "You want I should find a bottle somewhere? I'm sure Missus Svetlana has some stowed away in that house somewhere. Seems that, as conquering heroes, we're entitled to a bit of a reward."
Sorry only observes for now. She was sure her tactics would work, but maybe their enemy was more capable than it seemed, and that required more observation, before any real action. What was the man hiding?
"You aren't in a position to negotiate. I'm only askin' questions because it'll make our lives easier, but if you won't answer our questions, well, we'll string you up till your feet stop kickin', then find the rest of your bandit group the hard way, and kill 'em just as easily as we did your little gang. Answer my questions, and at the very least you'll get a quick death. If you're truly repentant, you may even get to keep your life.
Now, as I see it, you're starin' at death either way. But I want you to consider something. We killed every member of your group except you without takin' a single hit. If you tell us what we want to know, chances are we'll kill the rest of your group before they have the chance to take revenge. So, looks to me like your best chance to live is to answer our questions. You understand?"
"My hair is no trick, milord. My parents spent several years as crusaders in Mendev before I was born." She focuses for a moment on the jacket in question and cleanses it, but then states, "I would prefer not to use my talents for more than outerwear. The intimate familiarity entailed is somewhat disconcerting, and rather quite inappropriate."
She takes a seat on one of the beds, selecting it entirely at random, and then begins unlacing her boots to pull them off. "A free night in a proper bed and a hearty breakfast in the morning is a sensible reward, is it not? If those men had been preying on the Levetons for months, I doubt they'll have much worth sharing to speak of. Any casks of wine would have been carried off long ago." She leans back and stretches out atop the bed, her fiery hair failing to so much as singe anything, though still casting plenty of light so long as it remains uncovered.
Seeing the pathetic efforts from Bolys, knifes bared, Sorry steps forward, all the time eyes fixed on the bandit.
No words, no warning, no nothing.
[dice=Atk(Helpless)]1d20+3+4[/dice]
In a quick and brutal movement, she drives his dagger in Bandit thigh, twisting to enhance pain sensation, and along with the movement of the dagger, kneels and whispers "Should I start on the other leg as well?"
i'll talk I'll talk!. What ever you want.
"Hah! Maybe some other time, then. Those talents sound...fascinating." Derren sniffs his jacket, pulling it off and setting both it and his hat aside. "As for your family, well...better crusaders than suck-ups and stodgy old nobles. At least my sister had some sense. She got out of Eagle's Watch while she could. Jakob joined up with the Gorumites and got himself killed in some stupid fight with the barbarians in the Grozni forest, and Mikhiel's the oldest, so he's stuck at court.
Say, I wonder if those deaders out there carried anything useful with them, or if these were the dregs of the bandit barrel. Care to take a look with me? If there's no wine, perhaps there'll be something else of worth." Derren stands and pops his back before pulling the hat and jacket back on and rebuckling his sword-belt. He walks to the door and peers out into the rain, hesitating.
Leaving the knife in the bandit leg. Sorry raises and walk away.
"He is all yours." she says to Bolys "If you don't like his answers, try kicking the dagger. I'm sure he will be well inclined to change his mind."
Carina sighs and tugs her boots back on, re-fastening them, and then pulls her hat back on, carefully tucking her hair up under it, out of sight. "Fine, fine, that's probably for the best before they start rotting or attracting flies and maggots. I should fetch my things from the stable anyway." She helps Derren drag the bodies one by one over to the stable so that the task of parting the corpses of their worldly possessions can be done somewhere relatively dry, using her simple cantrips to clean away blood and grime. Once each body has been thoroughly searched, she then suggests dragging the corpses over towards the middens. "The stench won't make things any worse over there, and we can make a nice big pyre and burn them tomorrow."
"Much obliged. " Though he would not have thought of that, he couldn't deny its effectiveness. "Now, I'll start by having your name, and the name of your leader."
As Carina cleans each body, Derren rifles through their bags and pockets, struggling to pull armor from their corpses. He piles their plunder near the inside of the stable door, well out of the rain. "The middens, eh? If this rain doesn't stop, it's likely they'll not burn. Still, it'll save us burying them, and that's a lot of work from what I've seen of graves. Agreed. By the way, why do you hide your hair? It's quite beautiful, I must say?"
Cyrioul sighs at Sorry's approach, and prepares to staunch the bandit's wound. "So uncivilized..." He checks to see if the man's clothes could be made into bandages.
Pyotr clenches tight when he sees the dagger embed itself in the fools leg, but justice (and intel on the enemy) are a necessity out here in the backwoods.
"We should also ask how far away his fellows are..."
My fellows are pretty far away. bout a day if I remember. I don't know the name of me leader.
"How many bandits are there at your camp, and what direction is it? Is it near any rivers or caves?"
Cyrioul gives the man a funny look. "How could he not know his leader's name? Who brought him here?"
Bolys der brought me. he aint the leader though. there are lots. didn't get a count.
"That doesn't answer the question about your camp. What direction is it, and are there any rivers or caves or anything near it?"
Carina shakes her head, "Oh, they'll burn alright, milord. A proper pyre gets hot enough to melt steel into slag, and we don't want any of this lot coming back, so we'd best do it right and proper. A Pharasmin priest would be the surest hedge against revenge from beyond the grave, but a pyre is the next best thing, and often all that the common folk of smaller towns can manage." She sighs as she thinks about how much work that will be, and how difficult it might be to persuade Oleg to part with enough wood for building the pyres on the morrow, then adds, "How do you suppose the uh... questioning is going? With the prisoner."
Looking at the storage shed, Derren shrugs. "Maybe we should take a look in, see what they know. Perhaps another couple of bodies will speed the talking along."
Pyotr leans in. "If you want to keep your head, I suggest you answer to the best of your ability. Where is your base? And, if you had to take a guess, about how many are there. Ten? Thirty?"
Pyotr was starting to get a little worked up, but was trying his best to keep his cool.
Kill me if ye must. I won't speak unless I have a garentee I will live and be set free.
"He appears unrepentant to me," Cyrioul states. "Our charter is quite clear - we can likely find their base of operations on our own. I'm sure we have a decently experienced scout among us who can follow their horses' path. For justice, I recommend the noose for his crimes."
Hang me if ye will. Us not comming back will alert the pothers. You are out numbered. You will all die.
Bolys kicks the dagger embedded in the bandit's leg. "You aren't in a position to negotiate. Now answer the question about your camp, or else we'll string you up."
Derren walks over to the storage shed, poking his head in just in time to see Bolys kick the bandit. "No, no, no, that's not how this is done. That's not how this is done at all. Bandit, do you have a family? An old mother somewhere, or a father grown old from too many winters. Or perhaps a son or daughter, born only a few years gone? I'm changing the negotiation terms. My name is Derren Orlovsky, of the Brevic House, and if they live in Brevoy, I will find out who your family is. If they don't, my family has pull in the River Kingdoms. We'll find them. And when I do, I'll butcher every last one of them while you watch. You think your gang is tough? You think your numbers will matter? I think not. We are much, much worse than your friends. Now, answer the questions.
First, Where are you camping?
Second, How many of your friends are there at your camp?
Third, Where can I get a drink around here?
You only get once chance to answer. If you don't, I'll cut out your tongue. We can find your friends without your voice, and you don't need it to watch your loved ones die." Derren grins at the man, licking his lips in apparent anticipation.
Carina pales at the sight of the bandit, a knife still sticking out of his leg that hadn't been there when he surrendered, and then looks almost sick as she hears Derren's speech and quickly dismisses herself to go knock on the door to the Leveton's house, raising her voice to be heard over the rain, "Oleg? Svetlana? Do you mind if I come in and talk for a bit?"
Cyrioul looks at Derren in obvious disgust, stands, and touches the lit symbol of Abadar on the wall, causing it to flare and go out. "Your words are far from the idea of justice, and lower us all to his level of cruelty against the weak." He touches his holy symbol of Abadar once more, and a pulse of healing energy goes through the room, removing some of the pain from the bandit's leg. He looks at the bandit and says, "Repent of your banditry, and seek freedom through honest labor and by aiding our cause with information. Or do not, and receive swift and just judgment."
"Bah! An empty threat, really. I have about as much pull with my family as this guy does with his nameless boss. Besides, I don't have the guts to even stab a man while he's down, unlike whoever put that knife there. You might want to explain that to Carina and sorry, or the ladies will think I did it. Can't have that, now can we." Derren squats down before the bandit. "Too bad though. Cyrioul here's a Vaultsman. There are no empty threats from him, it'll be the rope."
Sorry looks shyly around, as if bothered by all proceedings, a look of horror on her face, as she hears Derren threat, to which she leaves the storage barn, after Carina.
For a moment, her eyes seem almost normal, as the rain washes on her face. Hard to know if she is crying for if it’s just the rain, and while Carina calls for Oleg, the young woman hugs her, not unlike a little child and in a childlike voice asks ”Why I did that?”
The rain stops. The bandit looks between Cyrioul and Darren.
please sir elf. I do not know. There are many. I am not a taught man. I don't know much about numbers. I don't have a family. They died long ago. If you truely mean what you say then know I am honestly telling you this. Unless you can do more than heal and put people to sleep then you will die against these bandits.
It is a full moon tonight. The four buildings in the moonlight appear to be silver, yet you know they are made of oak from your time working on them. The walls around the trading post are strong, and this appears to be a good place to build a city around. The area around is clear for a mile and after that it is either the single road or the woods.
Anyone outside is bathed in a silver glow, but nothing spectacular happens. The moon is strangely bright.
"You do know you're the only survivor, right? No, you know what? This interview isn't worth our time. Let's just follow their trail to their camp, deal with the rest of 'em, and come back. Start early tomorrow?"
Cyrioul shakes his head, not liking what he is hearing from the bandit, but says, "I agree with Derren. One of us must be able to find their camp by following their trail. Bolys, what say you?"
Carina had been about to knock on the door to the Levetons' house a second time when the rain suddenly lets up and moonlight bathes the fort in silvery light, just as Sorry hugs her unexpectedly. Her breath stolen by the beautiful sight, she abandons the door altogether and tugs on Sorry's hand as she walks over to take a seat on one of the benches, still soaked from the downpour, and gazes up at the sky. "This is a beautiful place, and it's a terrible sin that we should mar it with violence, but... it's not our fault, is it? We're here to make things right, to end the violence others started, so we can all enjoy beautiful nights like this, right?" She turns and looks at Sorry, clearly yearning for some sort of validation of her thoughts.
"I can probably track them back, and they can't be more than a day away. We'll wipe out the camp and try to find out more from them. Let's pick a tree and hang him from it. He hasn't given us anything to warrant a quick death."
Her head still tucked in the woman’s cloth, the girl don’t say a word, but she responds to Carina questions, denying with her head when the woman ask if their fault and nodding at the last question, the one meant they were sent to set thing right.
All around, a strange and unexpected breeze, the air suddenly feels heavy as small objects seems to be moving on their own around Carina and Sorry. Something seems to happen as the girl hugs the woman tightly , and is surprisingly strong embrace for someone so small and frail looking. The breeze around them seems to be whispering evil and daunting things, which only makes the girl hugs harder as she whisper ”Why don’t they go away?”
Sir im telling ye, the man with a bow knew the way. I saw him with a map. Did ye check him or were ye to busy trying to get information out of me?
"We left that to others. If he does have a map among his belongings, we'll only cut your head off instead of hang you."
Bolys goes over to where Derren and Carina had gathered the belongings and begins looking through, trying to find this map, if it exists.
Cyrioul waits for the map to be produced, and when it is, he dismisses the light enchantment on the wall, and prepare to pronounce judgment.
The bowman does have a crudely drawn map. It has no details but a simple line from the trading post, you hope, to the bandit camp.
With a grunt, Bolys picked up the map, went back to the shed, and showed the others. "It's crude, and I'm certain I'll have to look for tracks to verify we're going the right way. But it is, technically, a map. Whether it's worth a quick death or a long one is up to you."
Carina sighs and hugs Sorry back and then tugs her over in the direction of the guest house, "They're bad people, clearly. Even the Rogarvias, cruel as they were, still upheld law and order. Banditry is just plain lazy in a region like this. Thousands of square miles of pristine wilderness, good hunting, good farming, anything they desired to do, but instead they make a living purely on the misery of others." Opening the door to the guest house, she holds it open for Sorry and says, "We should get some sleep. Hopefully the boys have figured out where we're riding to in the morning, because otherwise we're not much better than the men we had to kill."
The girl doesn’t say anything as Carina led her to the guesthouse, once there she does as told, removing the rain cape, revealing an unadorned breastplace, which she removes as well. Only then she pays attention to the place, and notice it has only four beds.
”I’m not sharing a bed with one of them.” she says talking Carina’s hand. ”I’ll take my chances with you.” she says as she helps the other woman outside the rain-wet clothes.
Oleg approaches. You killing him or what?
Svetlana approaches.
Miss... I don't mean to intrude, but Oleg said he was going to go out and help the men. Is there anything you need? any information?
Cyrioul sighs. "It'll be the noose, Oleg - he will not repent. I trust you have one ready or available."
Cyrioul will help Oleg get the noose ready if it isn't already, then assist in the execution if others do not step forward to do so, hanging the bandit from the south wall of the trading post, in the direction the bandits approached from.
"Well, I suppose more or larger beds is out of the question, but Sorry and I were already about to share it seems." Indeed, she had already removed her overcoat and boots, and now removes her hat, allowing her quite literally fiery hair to dance freely. She hmms thoughtfully, then asks Svetlana, "Perhaps you could help us to better help you though. I would guess that these brigands have taken any number of furs, hides, and other such trade goods from you, but is there anything else we should be keeping an eye out for?"
Taking a seat on the side of the bed Sorry picked out, she begins to say, "My father has this... waffle iron. It is nothing special, just cast iron, but they were my mother's favorite until she died bringing my sister into this world, and it reminds him of her. I guess he bought it before I was even conceived. To anyone else in this world it is worth maybe a half dozen silver links, but to him it is one of the few links he has to the woman he loved, aside from me and my sister of course." She then meets Svetlana's eyes, "Is there anything we need to make sure comes back here to you? Oleg said that woman stole your wedding ring right off your finger, and I imagine you'll want that back, but I'm sure it's not the only thing they took that was of great sentimental value."