"I would welcome you to do so, Carina, if you like, though I would like to watch over them as well."
"Be my guest, Miss Sinicka. I never wanted to talk with him to begin with. Still, they'd been struggling, and I figured a different approach might speed things along. As for fear, Miss Apology, it's true that yesterday was my first time killing a man, but I've been toying around with dueling swords for half a decade now. Some swordsmen get cut over and over but never let it have an effect on their fighting. Others, they get a little nick, not more than a scratch really, and they lose their nerve for good. Pain and fear are both good motivators, but they can both cause the same reactions."
"If you truly want to, be my guest. In my experience, most bandits will only repent long enough to run away, and then try to come back for revenge, but maybe you'll find an honest one."
Weyland seems more than a little disgusted by the talk of torture.
"Pain motivates many things, but the truth is rarely one of them. Banditry is often punishable by death, but let it be a clean death"
As they ride, Weyland starts giving everyone the once over the with a little detect evil
”I’ve got no real trouble doing as you want. I did it that way, because that’s how they taught me in the army. ” she says rather shyly and with that she leads the horses closer to Carina, but within in earshot distance.
Cyrioul rides forward in silence, watching the landscape as they go, taking in any sounds come across the plains.
Bolys continues seeking tracks, looking to follow the bandits back to their camp.
Sorry just rides along, while they don't arrive at their destination or Carina resumes what she wanted to talk about.
Carina has no aura detectable to her new paladin companion, and is far too preoccupied with trying to put words together to discuss things with Sorry and maintain control of her horse to notice anything odd about his behavior. As Sorry veers back closer to her and the sun remains high enough in the sky to not stop for the day, Carina sighs and turns her attention to the young woman, "Look, I don't know how things were done wherever you are from, but... my father is a magistrate in service to House Lebeda and a paladin of Abadar and I was raised to know that even criminals deserve a clean death. I'm a Rostlander, not some barbaric... Issian who would draw and quarter a man for stealing bread." She says the word 'Issian' as though it were a curse word, a vile epithet, but calms quickly as she continues, "If someone has committed crimes worthy of death, they should be hung properly such that their neck will break and they will die quickly rather than slowly choking over a long period, or should have their head cleanly sliced off by a headsman. To slowly torture someone by stabbing them with knives or... or worse is not something I will abide, even if they have useful information they refuse to divulge."
She sighs and looks over at her other companions, then nudges her horse to draw right up alongside Sorry, meeting the younger woman's eyes, "I shall forgive you this one time, for the Dawnflower asks that I find the strength to forgive others, but I am not my goddess, and my forgiveness is not nearly so infinite as Hers."
”He was bad, he did bad things.” she starts slowly ”Talking resulted in nothing and our future, and most likely Oleg and Svetlana as well, depends on we surviving the others bandits.” looking ahead, she continues to say. ”I don’t want to die.” she admits bluntly ”and if a knife in the leg can make it more likely I and the others that depend on us, survive as well, I don’t feel sorry about what I did. Was it right? Wrong? If you are captured by the bandits should I keep asking nice questions while they rape and hurt you? What else could I have done?”
Bolys you manage to keep your way for another 3 miles.
Carina is silent a long while, gripping her horse's reins tightly, and when she speaks her voice is quiet, barely audible to Sorry, let alone the rest of the party, "Yes. If that is my fate, so be it. I have no wish to die either, but if the alternative is to live dishonorably, to stoop to such injustices as those villains I detest, then perhaps death is not so bad. We are all judged by Pharasma eventually, I may not be a saint, but I hope to be proud of the life she judges me for having lived."
There was no reason to talk anymore. Sorry didn’t believe she was wrong, and clearly Carina’s opinions were unforgiving in the exact opposite way than the woman just preached. It sounded a lot like a religious zealot: ‘I, and I alone am right.’
There were a lot of flaws in Carina’s indoctrination, and Sorry would need to treat with great care lest she antagonized the other woman.
Guiding her horse closer, until she was bumping in the other woman, Sorry lean in her saddle and hugs Carina ”I understand you… but you are wrong.” she whispers before letting go the other woman.
The land move before you ask you ride and talk. After 3 hours you need to check the map again
Cyrioul peeks over Bolys' shoulder to see about helping with the directions.
Bolys consults the map and checks the tracks they've been following to ensure they are still on track.
Nursing the beginnings of a headache, Derren squints out at the grasses they're riding by. "Hey, tracker! Are you sure we're not just riding in circles? This all looks familiar."
Cyrioul looks around for a moment, back at the map, then says, "Oh, I see what we did there. Sorry, that was probably my fault, Bolys. Glad you put us back on track." He nudges his horse in an adjusted direction and continues on.
Bolys nods and says, "Regardless of whose fault it is, we're not too far off. And no, Derren, we are not going in circles. The grass here has grown in a completely different pattern than elsewhere." Bolys heads off on their adjusted course with Cyrioul, trusting the rest will follow.
Sorry tags along the rest of the party, waiting until they arrive at their destination.
Night falls as you enter forest. You hear wolves howl in the distance.
Cyrioul helps to set camp. "I assume we should not light a fire, lest someone should see us." He ties his mule to a tree, sets up his tent, and asks which watch he should keep.
"If we're going to keep an effective watch, we'll need one. I cannot see in the dark without light, and I suspect there are others in our group who require as much."
Bolys set about starting a small fire, then tied his horse to a nearby tree and laid his bedroll out. "I'll take the first watch. Why don't you take the second, Cyrioul?"
"Fine with me - just wake me up when it's time." Cyrioul crunches down on some rations, and crawls into his tent for a first bit of rest.
The night passes quietly and you hear crickets.You wake. Please make a perception check
"Looks like we've made good progress! See there up ahead, a few miles off yet - some kind of fort." Cyrioul loads up his mule and gets on his horse. "We can be there within a few hours."
There are some tree's but it is an open aproach. You also see some people moving around now. It looks like they discovered thier friends didn't arrive.
"Well, this will be tougher than the last fight, I'm guessing. Should we get closer and see just how many there are?
"Aye, that seems to be the place. Perhaps I can scout closer and see if I can hear what they're sayin'."
Though he tries to keep his eyes on the terrain, Derren's headache only gets worse, and it's not long before it becomes obvious. He needs a drink. He shakes his flask, hoping against hope that it's full of wine somehow, but no sound can be heard. Dismounting from Dorina, Derren looks Bolys in the eye. "And how do you intend to do that? Sneak through the grasses? It could work, but if things go sour, there's no way we'll be able to help you from miles away. If that's what you want, then by all means, go."
As you approach you see an old broken down waggon. Beyond the wagon the tree's grow denser. Nine bandits move about, but you can not see any more if there are more. the river moves through what you believe is their camp.
Bolys slipped through the trees, watching the bandits' movements, trying to pinpoint their locations so the rest of the party could make an effective plan.
Cyrioul tries to track Bolys' approach, but loses him in the trees.
The bandits created this semi-permanent
campsite by cutting themselves a small clearing. Tree
trunks and logs serve as chairs, all centered about a stonelined
campfire. A heap of kindling and smaller sticks lies
nearby.
All nine bandits are here. Moving about, none see you.
Bolys crept back to the others and said, "Okay we've got nine of them there. They don't appear to have any defenses, but there's a wagon someone could hide behind. What should our strategy be?"
"Nine, huh? With just the five of us, that's quite the opposition. They didn't seem too tough at Oleg's but we caught them by surprise then... If we can get that same surprise here, we can probably take them out. If not, we'll need to run, and head back to Oleg's quick. It'll be more defensible."
"Well, let's see here. I'm good for two-no, better make it three-I'm good for three of the bandits, so you'll need to take care of six between you all. Think you can handle it?" Derren looks at the others, then at the bandit camp. I just hope I don't end up with the three strongest and toughest...
"If you're confident of our abilities, Derren, I will not back down from supporting your charge into the fray. Permit me a short prayer to Abadar to prepare myself... And to prepare you as well."
Cyrioul finishes his silent prayers, looks at the others, and nods. "For the Glory of the Master of the First Vault, just Judge of the Gods, we bring sentence upon these lawless men and their leader. Lend us your swift righteousness, power, and shield us with your glory. Guide us by your sight, and lead us to victory."
"I'll sneak close and prepare to fire once you charge. Maybe I'll draw one or two to me."
Bolys slipped back into the woods and set himself up to fire on one of the bandits.
Derren nods in appreciation as Cyrioul's divine favor falls on him. "Not that I'll need it much, but it's nice to know someone cares. Just don't bail on me, yeah?"
Walking toward the camp, Derren assumes a confident swagger, trying to display bravado he's not particularly feeling. He steps into the camp, sword drawn. "Alright, lads...and lasses, if any of you are. Restov's sent me, Derren Orlovsky, to clean the Stolen Lands. You've got two choices. Either throw down and surrender, or die on my blade. Er, I guess you could run screaming too. That'd be fine." Though his head's pounding from the lack of drink, he stands with his sword in a seemingly-relaxed position, ready to attack the first enemy to move.