Drot gets up slowly, dazed and in pain. He leans against a nearby tree and looks at the group, from one face to the next. His breathing begins to normalize and things come back into focus.
"What, in all that is good, just happened?..."
Tesswyn points to the dead boar. "That thing nearly killed us. Beastmen sicced it on us."
Barlog pulls out a flask and takes a long drought, then answers the others' questions.
'The name is Firebeard. These are my lands to protect. Although I have no idea what that'--he indicates the fallen beast--'is or where it came from. I don't have any potions but I suppose I can make something from what the forest is offering.'
He looks around and picks some grasses, leaves, mushrooms, and sap. He will attempt to use his Gatherer profession to mix them into a healing poultice.
What do I need to roll?
You will notice that despite living in the forest Barlog keeps himself clean and well-groomed. His beard is gathered simply by one thin cord and his hair by another.
His clothes are made of a mishmash of leathers and fabrics, unfussy and unrefined but comfortable enough.
He carries with his a staff and pouches for herbal supplies as well as the aforementioned flask (rather large at that).
The forefinger of his left hand is wrapped tightly in a bloody bandage.
He rubbed his neck as he turned to their newcomer as he identified himself.
"Firebeard, your help is appreciated. If you could guide us through these woods we would appreciate it. More than that, we're certain something strange is happening here and it would be helpful to have you with us for the time being."
After speaking with the oddly well groomed dwarf, he set about healing Drot'ook and Tesswyn.
"Yes, we're heading to the fort. Come along, or don't. It's up to you," Tess tells the dwarf.
To do these, you can view the spoiler that's immediately below the text box used for posting. Use the [] keys with either B for bold, I for italics, or OOC for out of character. They do not have to be capital letters. / Key in front of the letter is the format for ending it.
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Sorry! I didn't see the last one had saved
We will use the first one. It's a failure at -4.
Finding none of the ingredients needed, Barlog takes another drink from his flask.
"Aye, I can get you to the fort. As for anything strange going on...an increase in Beastmen lately. Pests to be sure, but they can be dealt with."
Charles waited with the others while Firebeard searched the nearby area for the various ingredients he needed. While they waited, he went over to where the pig beast had been stomping around and began examining the carcasses.
Have I really gotten so used to the sight of dead bodies that I barely mind searching through them now?
When he came back empty handed, Charles pushed himself away from the tree he'd been leaning against.
"Well you looked the part of a woodsman before, but I'd say your thumb is greener now.
That's worrisome news about the beastmen though, if nothing else. We've had some experience with things changing rapidly before and it never seems to end well. I think we've used up enough time here. We should get moving again."
"Let's get on with it already."
Drot uses the magical energy in the air around him to mend more of his wounds. He sighs at the small amount of relief and stands.
"I agree, let's get going."
The next day and a half of travel is relatively eventless. There were a few times you thought you heard a Fomor, but they seem to be keeping their distance.
It's towards the end of the next day when you reach Bleak's Faste. The fortress commands the southern shore of a fastflowing river that marks the edge of the forest. Its walls stretch east and west up to the river’s edge, punctuated by guard posts with alarm bells and signal fires. Just outside the walls, you see guards tossing beastmen corpses into a pit filled with smoldering bodies. A dwarf oversees the work, occasionally barking an order. You can tell she has seen her fair share of combat, as evidenced by her scarred and weathered face and a missing chunk of scalp behind her left ear.
Ho there! a guard calls out, clearly looking at your group. What business do you have at Bleak's Faste?
Charles raised a hand. "We come from a small farming village some two days of travel through the forest in order to meet the defenders here at Bleake's Faste. The village was invaded by a beastman which we slew, we've seen more of them and fought worse to get here.
We're not unused to battle and would seek to learn what we can from you in matters regarding this. May we approach?"
"And we've come to collect on your bounty," Tesswyn adds. She gestures to the fomor head peeking out of Drot's pack.
The dwarf overhears your introduction and lets out a bark of a laugh. Ha! I'll bet! Sure thing. You come ob over and toss the heads onto this pile, and you'll get paid. Afterwards, we'll get some hot lunch and discuss what we need. Beyond that, is there anything we can do for you?
"Maybe some new clothes. I've literally been wearing this same outfit for over a year. I'm surprised it hasn't completely fallen apart," Tesswyn grumbles.
Charles was not about to turn away a hot meal and Tesswyn made a good point about their clothing. He'd actually had more clothing but when they'd been forced to abandon their last town due to lava flow, he'd lost it all. Now after being attacked, his clothes were starting to look very torn and shambled.
"Sound good. If I had to say anything else we might need the most though, it would have to be good armor."
Barlog addresses the woman and jiggles his flask, the dregs sloshing around. He speaks in Dwarfish.
Is there any decent ale around here?
Charles looked to their new companion and smiled knowingly.
Good to know some things don't change. he thought.
Well, about that, the dwarf says. She starts to walk inside the keep, expecting you to follow.
Our supply wagons haven't shown up for a few weeks. We've all been increasingly worried. We are running low on food and we've been out of any alcohol for over a week. We haven't been able to spare anyone to find out what's happened because of the increased Fomor attacks. We have enough soup to spare, and we have a place for you to bed down if you need, but we have no spare clothing, weapons, or armor.
But you find out what's happened to our supplies and get them coming again, and I'll he glad to give you what I've got.
She stops at a building with a large serving window; there are bowls stacked up on one shelf. She grabs a bowl and holds it towards Aman stirring a large couldn't over a fire. The man takes out a large ladle and pours soup into the bowl.
As she hands it to Charles, and then hands five copper pennies to Tesswyn and says, By the way, I'm Commander Rabi.
Tesswyn crosses her arms, unimpressed by what the keep has to offer. "What can you tell us about the beastmen in the area? Do you think they have been interfering with your supply shipments? Where do the supplies come from?"
Drot, deep in thought, begins to listen to the conversation at hand. He chimes in;
"Thank you for that, we do plan on routing out the beasts from their source. If you gave us the information about the most recent shipment you were supposed to get we could track it and subsequently the formor. "
Barlog is clearly disappointed about the ale situation. He sulks and lags behind the group as they walk on.
He says under his breath "I'd rather spend the night in a stable than a keep with no ale."
He idly looks through his pouches for something to brew that might get him tipsy.
It's fair. he thought, taking the offered soup bowl. We are practically just some outsiders showing up and getting involved in our way.
He blew on the soup a few times before starting to eat.
"Commander Rabi," he said acknowledging her. "my name is Charles and these are my companions, Tesswyn and Drot'ook." he gestured to each in turn.
"That fellow over there is Flamebeard. He's a tracker in the area and a guide we happened to stumble upon. Helped us out when we were getting the worse end of an oversized pig or boar monster." He took another few spoonfuls of the soup.
"How are the defenders of the fort here holding up? I believe we can be of some assistance if you've got wounded."
Drot takes a bowl for himself and begins eating eagerly. They haven't had a solid meal it a while it seems and a medley of meat and veggies sounded quite good. He listens to the discussion with interest and begins to run through the things he learned in the lava tunnels from the kindly medic.
Yes, we can absolutely use any assistance with the injured.
Our supplies come from a nearby commune. They provide us with all our food; the deliveries are crucial for feeding the soldiers, and without them, I fear we won’t have enough to get through the winter.
If you can check on them, I'd be in your debt. I suspect they're just trapped and unable to cross the forest roads with the increase in beastmen. They likely just need an escort back here. If you get back here with the supplies, I'm sure I can acquire some new weapons and armor for you, as well as a place to stay if you choose to remain with us defending the territories. And if not, well, there's always the bounties.
If you accept, she gives you directions to the commune.
"Well I suspect you're the only thing standing between the settlements in the surrounding area and them getting raided frequently. So I think we can be of assistance to you. We'll help see to the wounded before we leave Nd then we can make our way to the commune."
"I suppose going together is better than going alone. I've been in the forest for a while and many's the time I'd have wished for someone to help pull my feet out of the fire."
His bowl holds his attention for a spell before he shakes himself from his thoughts.
"But first I'd like a place to take a bath."
"Going together is better than going alone. Many's the time I've wished someone would help pull my feet from the fire."
His bowl hold his attention for a spell before he shakes himself from his memories.
"I'll settle for a bath for now."
"Tend to the wounded, bath, then the commune. Sounds like a plan," Tesswyn agrees.
The keep provides a safe place to rest, and provides a cold bath as well as hot soup for dinner. Everyone is counted as having a Rest. Replenish your spells and gain your Healing Rate in HP. Please write a short story about what you do during the evening at the keep. One paragraph or longer will grant Fortune, if you don't already have it (for those that do have it, you really should be using it a lot more often).
Tesswyn eats her fill of soup before indulging in a nice, long bath. Though the water is cold, she soaks until her fingers and toes start to prune, enjoying finally having an opportunity to wash off the stink and grime of weeks on the road. As she dries off, she looks at her torn, patched clothes with disgust. She really needs a new outfit.
For a brief moment, she considers ditching them completely and streaking through the keep. She'd love to see the look on Charles's face... A bit of heat rushes to her cheeks then, and with a nervous laugh, she dismisses the flight of fancy. Besides, if she didn't have clothes on underneath, her armor would chafe something fierce.
Once dressed, she wanders the keep a bit, watching the soldiers go about their business. She tries to resist the urge to swipe a few valuables that are lying about. She's trying to be a bit of a better person now, but old habits die hard.
As she retires to her quarters, she looks out the window into the forest. Her eyes can't help but notice signs in the chirping of the insects, the swaying of the branches in the breeze, the arrangement of the stars in the night sky... But her mind's too tired to try to make sense of them. She settles into her cot and soon falls asleep...
Drot agrees with the group and as they break for rest he finds his quarters and sets about washing. The water is muddled and opaque when he gets out and it makes him scoff and shake his head.
He takes a nap and wakes up when the sun has set. He sets out to roam a bit and see what the soldiers do for fun. Drot has been uneasy and confused as of late. With the death of a dear friend from his selfishness and his anger getting the better of him he felt the need to be violent on purpose for once.
He looks around for soldiers or otherwise taking part in an age old pass time... Fighting. Short of that he'll find the strongest ones and challenge them to the sport himself.
"Come little humans!" He says, knowing that these words can boil the mildest man's blood. "I bet I can take any one of you in square fist fight, hell, I take on two at a time. Get on with it!" He bellows, throwing off his robe, reviling his massive and muscular form. Hands wrapped in thin cloth he puts them up gesturing to the largest of the men.
"First one to submit or bleed, I'll pitch 5 silver to whoever can take me down!"
Charles settled in to wander the keep for a time. The first thing he did was learn where the sleeping quarters were and then asked to be shown to where the wounded were recovering.
The training he'd received from Paul was still largely untested but he used it where he thought it might be easiest.
His confidence was shaken and perhaps he had not been too terribly keen about his lessons from earlier, but then again, he didn't have to. He'd still had some of his power from earlier and he used it to heal the more grievous wounds.
After he'd seen to those that he could, he decided it was well past time for him to clean himself from the grime and dirt of travel from before and decided to take one of the offered cold baths.
He was not pleased with the wear and tear of his clothes as he held out his under shirt in front of him.
"Art would have been furious with... with..."
The years of being a valet had faded some in his mind but the old lessons inspired by Art's decision to teach the young boy from court some manners and humility of the world had not been completely abandoned.
Charlemange... the name my father gave to me. he hated that name now. The name he'd been forced to live with for too long. It was the name that had belonged to a fool boy challenging his father in court. It was the same one who lost that trial by combat, not to his father, but to the very man that had raised him. The same one who'd been forced to beg for mercy and not have his life taken. The same one who foolishly declared that he would not run anymore.
The monstrous bore creature had put a large hole through his armor and the shirt beneath. Blood soaked the areas around the tear where he'd bled and on the sleeves when he'd picked up Tesswyn.
"I nearly lost her..." he said aloud. A faint anger played across his emotions as he recalled the battle... but it was smothered by a sudden sense of guilt as he saw the splatter of darker blood across the chest and recalled Drot'ook's bleeding form.
"I nearly lost them both." If not for Flamebeard, he was suddenly certain that Drot'ook would have died.
"Because I wouldn't back down, my friends almost died."
Charles stood still for a long time before finally balling up the shirt and slamming it into the water. Slowly the water began to turn a slight pinkish in color. He then reached in and began to try and scrub it clean. He knew it was far too late but he did so anyway. He couldn't undo the past but he could learn from it and be better.
I'll have to thank Flamebeard later.
It was some time later, wearing the same damp, although somewhat cleaner clothes, that a tired but troubled Charles found his way to the gambling room where a group of off duty soldiers were gathered around an inviting hearth. Quietly laughing with one another among some cheers of victors and groans of those who lost. Charles had never been much of a gambler before but he had seen and heard it enough to know when it was happening and right now he was determined to forget his worries for a time.
As he entered into the room he thought he recognized two of the men. One the guard who had greeted them when they'd first arrived but had never learned his name. The other was the server from earlier when they'd met commander Rabi.
"You're Aman, right? Mind if I join in?"
Charles had seen Art gamble a few times and he'd watched before as others had done so later on. Even after watching the most recent game for a few rounds and asking the rules didn't help him at all. He could neither read his opponent, nor hide his tell.
But sometimes, luck favors the fool. Even as his hope dwindled and his opponents pressed their advantage, the unlikeliest of possibilities occurred and Charles took it all.
Barlog ritualistically undresses and folds his clothes before stepping into the frigid water. He lowers himself slowly and braces before sticking his head under the surface. When he closes his eyes, he can see his children laughing and playing. Now they are still and cold beneath the stones of the collapsed cave. His lungs are burning as he runs, frantic, as the others pursue….
Water splashes onto the floor as he emerges from the bath, gasping for air. It takes a few moments to collect himself and remember where he is.
After he dresses, he finds an empty room. He arranges an array of leaves, stones, and flowers on the floor in a sacred pattern. His finger is mangled, purple, and swollen. Removing the bandage hurt like hell. With his hand flat on the floor, palm down, he takes a slightly larger stone from his pouch and smashes his finger once more.
Again, he sees his children. Again, he sees them still. Again, he runs away. The stone has blood on it. He replaces it in one of his pouches and pulls out a fresh bandage. Practiced motions make quick work and he sets about offering prayers to any of the old gods that will listen.
When he stands, he decides to find the kitchen. That soup wasn’t nearly enough to keep him full through the night.
Later, you start gambling. The evenings games go back and forth, and more than once are you almost out, only to come up ahead. By the time the dust has settled, you walked away with a used set of mail armor.
You look troubled, son. I've seen that look before. A look brought on by war and death. Take a look around sometime, and look into the eyes of others. You'll see it. Some hide it well, masking the pain with laughter and distractions. Others take to booze and drugs. And still others become suicidal. He pauses a moment, and then starts patting his pockets until he finds something. He pulls out a small black embroidered handkerchief. It looks wrinkled, but unused.
Here. Take this. When you sleep, place it over your eyes and nose. It'll help. Trust me, I know.
That night, when you sleep, you give it a try. The handkerchief has a faint smell of perfume. It is not, altogether, unpleasant. When you wake, you feel refreshed. As you wake, you realize that either you did not have any nightmares - perhaps for the first time in years, or you simple do not remember them.
The next day, you head out back into the forest. The directions to the commune are simple, but it's still over a day away.
As you walk, you think on the stories you heard about the commune back at the keep.
It's a group of nature-worshiping humans; they established a commune in the rich soil of the river delta about ten years ago. said one soldier.
Another piped in, That place is haunted! Everyone vanished from it during a battle a hundred years ago!
Shut up, Reginald. the first said. Don't listen to him. Look, it is a secluded, abandoned fortress with a fair amount of fertile land that locals believe is haunted and won’t approach. But the tales of hauntings are just that! Tales! They spread such stories to keep people away. They just want to be left alone.
The second pipes back in, No, I'm serious! My great-great-grandpappy died there! No one with any sense goes near that place.
Later, another soldier tells you, The commune accepts no visitors, and none of its workers deal with anyone in the outside world as they tend the fields. I heard the communers’ tongues have been cut out. My Aunty Willums said one wagged its stump at her once.
Their only interaction with anyone is with Bleak’s Faste, when a handful of communers bring their seasonal produce and grain. And I ain't never heard one of them talk.
You get a bit lost in thought, when all of a sudden Barlog stops. You stop with him, an confused look in your eyes. All he does is point. Following his gesture, you see it, too. Up ahead are five beastmen. They look more ferocious than the fomor you've previously seen - these ones aren't goats, they're wolves.
Tesswyn dons her new clothes, grateful for the gift. She feels much more comfortable now!
When they see the beastmen, she takes the time to cast oak hide and shillelagh to prepare for combat. "They look tough. Should we try to sneak around them?"
With the confidence gained in the keep Drot shrugs, draws his mace, casts Arcane Armor with a whisper and continues.
"With the advantage of surprise we can probably take them"
Barlog steps off the path and hides behind a bush or tree, whichever he finds first. He whispers to the others,
They haven't seen us yet... We may be able to sneak around them. I agree with the lass, and I'm not one for fighting.
"Hmm, we could sneak around them but then what are they doing here? I think it would be best to see what they're up to. Tesswyn, you're quiet, do you think you can get closer and discern what they're doing first. Flamebeard, I'm not sure of your skills but do you think you could get closer too?"
"Let me try," Tesswyn says. She creeps ahead of the others, her barklike skin allowing her to blend in with the surrounding forest.
I'd rather not risk alerting the creatures. We dwarfs, as a general rule, are not a subtle people.
Tesswyn sneaks through the foliage, keeping silent over the protests of her departure.
Tesswyn slips back to the rest of the group. "It sounds like they're planning to attack the keep. We'd better take them out. We can always fall back and recover if the fight turns against us."