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Momma was a fisher, twixt the swift rivers of Dualie and Dine down Snaggleberry Run. She'd go trawling for sticklebacks, fightin' off the dragonflies for teensy schools o' minnows with bone plates under their scales. We musta been makin' momma proud, trawlin' that ghoul across the steppes.
Heh. Was years later but I did a sneaky thing...hard to believe I know. Burst was composin' some spellsong like she does, makin' a right ballad of the "Death of the Little Ghouls Town" or whatever working title it were. She had passed out in a mental break from spiced wine that night (even though none of us encouraged her at all, I might add), and I snuck in a little lyric. You know, altered parchment. Sponge and lemon. Every thief worth her salt had a forger's script...and I were no stranger to cleft and treble. Anyhow, her original went somethin' like:
Suspended moon in the mist of summer's dusk,
the red caps guised as fire white,
asunder burst a soldier's camp,
dead soldier burst and camp alike.
I thought that had a pretty good rhythm. Well, truth be told I was drunk as all hell. Gunnar's f*ckin' cat mewin' at that point woulda brought me to god d*mn tears. You know, coulda been warpin my artistic critique and whatnot. But them later stanza was gettin' philosophical. Making some analogy about the 'old ways' and 'tides'...heh. Figured that was my chance to snatch the brush. Thing I love about the elven hand is the efficiency o' the vowels. Its just a matter of the height of certain vertical lines. Real easy to change:
That fisher's line weren't easy spent,
cursed hoplite banged and bent,
swept them off their feet,
a twist of chance taking them through the night.
Granted she noticed my change right away in the first performance, but not before she sang it! Was enough. The lyric spread among them cover-bards and it gave me a full-faced snicker like no other.
See gold is gold. Gems were gems. But what tickles me most? Beatin' the odds. Dekatron wasn't a beast refit with some infernal engine. Nay, that spotted and stolen magic weren't never goin' toe-to-toe with a Red Dragon. She were my lucky charm though, clear as day.
And we held on as the battle dwindled, though it were only a small taste of the grand forces to come.
Arianna scrambles to her feet and draws her borrowed sword. She needed to end the threat fast, before any of the other ghouls could run away. For that matter, they all needed to end the fight quickly, otherwise the shots she missed would be lost.
"I don't suppose you can tell how close their reinforcements are, Aterro," she asks after stabbing the ghoul that tried to claw her down twice.
Ingryd drops on the ghoul leader the swarm of bees buzzing around her as she rages on.
As she dropped hammer high slamming down. After connecting hard onto the ghoul. The bees dissperse and she then raises up bringing the back of the hammer to slam back up ibto the ghoul. As she growls she left alot of herself open but also knows that Ingryd needs ro drop this creature fast.
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"Reinforcements? You mean we get to kill MORE of them? Of glory unto Thor for bringing more of these greyskins to our path to be trampled under our boots of STEEL! Nay, I can not tell how much more glory and honor can be coming for us, and even less so if their runners are caught by our airborne forces and fallen by Death From Above. No matter, they will come to us or we to them.
Just like this worthy before us!"
Unwilling to spend any of his grace on felling a single ghoul, Aterro focuses on the poetic grace of single combat.
As if sensing his master's heightened martial attention, Deathmetal awakens and LEAPS to the attack. Again Aterro feels his hand to be but holding the hilt as the weapon-end dances and advances of its own will, him but the earthly tie that holds the force of death into this material realm.
"Oh no! We are not wasting me almost blowing myself up! Kill them all and let them be in the dark about the true nature of their foe," Arianna tells Aterro.
Electrical energy surges from dwarf to ghoul sending the undead's muscles twitching and teeth chattering for several seconds. But the creature still lives, even if is doesn't have complete control of its body.
Luthael's holy fire lances toward the lassoed ghoul as it makes another pass behind the whooping, poetry reciting, halfling ghoul wrangler. Amazingly, the undead manages to see the blast coming and rolls himself aside just in time to avoid the holy blast. The move also manages to free his arms from the confines of Scramsax's rope. A moment later the undead is free and scrambling back onto his feet.
Caught between paladin and elf, the ghoul facing Aterro and Arianna finds himself badly outmatched and quickly discovering whether the god Vardesain is a forgiving god or not. He is not. Even before the stabbed and blasted body hits the ground the ghoul's spirit finds itself screaming as it plunges down the eternal maw of the Unsated God where it will be eternally digested until the final ending of the multiverse.
Beneath the scraggly juniper, Ingryd slams her hammer into the lone legionnaire who'd avoided the initial trap. Sliver grunts and gasps with each powerful, flesh burning blow. The second blow sends her stumbling backward several paces until the manages to regain her balance against the trunk of the tree. Unwilling to go to Mavros' warrior halls with her back turned to a foe, she charges the bearkin with a snarl and quick prayer. But her strength is sapped and her blows cannot slip past Ingryd's defenses.
The legionnaire fighting Gunnar recovers from the wizards shock and lunges forward with a fast, furious strike bypassing the dwarf's defenses as tearing a nasty gash down his side. The undead attempts to follow up with a quick snapping bite, but his teeth find nothing but air.
Ghoul 1: 0/145 *Ingryd
Ghoul 2: 0/145 *Ingryd / Wall of Fire
Ghoul 3: 0/145 Wall of Fire
Ghoul 4: 18/145 *Crossbow
Ghoul 5: 0/145
Ghoul 6: 33/145 *Crossbow / Lasso
Sliver: 12/145
Not knowing the incoming strike is too precise to be deflected by his Shield, Gunnar reacts with the spell anyway. It is brushed aside, absorbing only a small fraction of the incoming damage before Gunnar is wounded once more!
, but it slips from his mind as the resounding blow dulls his senses.
Now firmly on his feet next to the ghoul, Gunnar reaches out again with his ornate hammer, attempting to strike at the undead with the arcing electricity coming from his weapon!
and no reactions this round.
Arianna picks up her bow and grimaces. She's running out of arrows and they likely didn't have much time to find the ones that missed.
"Damned, corpse-munching, goblin-rutting, flea-infested..." she growls a she nocks another arrow and lines up on the ghoul climbing to its feet after being pulled around by Scramsax.
"'Tis a shame you were late getting here, Aterro," she says after sending her second arrow down range. "I fear telling you what you missed won't be as exciting as having seen it."
Yeah funny bit, that god magic. With the meaty bones nearly served up on a platter, Dek had a mind to visit Chow Town just as I was lining up another Patriarch Special. Was like dancin', or puppeteering maybe...when the lead hands and steps were already all planned out yet swappin' and embellishin'. As her teeth sunk in for the kill, my bullet pierced its skull. Sure, was a mercy it didn't deserve but hey like I said...god magic.
Ingryd dodges and rolls out of the attacks.She shifts and presses into this leader. The cacophy of bees roared avout the bearmaiden. It fed her divine rage these creatures were awful horrible beings of death and destrution! So Ingryd would bring the Goddesses wrath.
Near Gunnar, Luthael drops the unnecessary Wall of Fire and launches another lance of Sacred Flames at the ghoul.
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Deathmetal makes a sickened, squelching sounds as the paladin yanks his mace out of the skull of the recently felled ghoul. "We all take our pleasures where we can get them," he states at Arianna. "And are you not a bard? I should think that ANY tale you tell must of course be better than the real thing! I think that did I hear the tale you would tell about this killing right here, upon hearing it I would stand up and cry 'O, if only I had been there!'
There is still fighting going on. Perhaps if I hurry I can catch the last glimpses of it."
Aterro trots forward toward the fracas, looking for some last fleeting movement that he can hit until it goes away.
Aterro surges across the battlefield looking for a target. Alas, none appear before the paladin's searching gaze. Ingyrd dispatches the most dangerous of the bunch with a final crushing blow that shatters Sliver's undead skull. Scramsax, Dekatron, and Arianna the formerly wrangled legionnaire into little more than a pile of rotting meat. And between Gunnar's arcane surges of electrical power and the holy flame of Khors, the ghoul tangling with the wizard is transformed into a bits of charred bone and ash. A sudden quiet emerges on the plain. A quiet broken as more horns sound from within the camp and additional squads begin to march toward the site of fire and fury.
In the opposite direction, toward the heroes camp, the sound of a few pots and pans rattling along with the familiar sound of Mamluk's "Meow."
"Quick, find the arrows that missed," Arianna says as she starts looking for her missed shots.
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That horn bristled the hairs on Dekatron's back same as the line of goosebumps creeped up my spine. It was the first time I thought we had a real chance of being captured ourselves. More were coming, just like ol' Tortega the Juniper Moth to flame. The noble half of the Narg Nasty 6 would dictate we'd take the place of them prisoners, at best.
You know, just between you and me, I had another thought acreepin' in the shadows of me mind. That streetwise nose of opportunity, however bleak, was hard to shake off an old dog. I figured with their camp leaking squad after squad, a focused strike team could spearhead an attack from the flank and really polish off what Burst started. Of course, that would mean sacrificing the innocents we just helped start their run.
Yeah, was a bad situation, them plains at dusk. Dark thoughts were too easily sneakin' in. Me? Well, sure I was wantin' to survive and get the hell out of there quick. I tried to hint at hopelessness without bein' so cynical. I remember sayin' something like "Unless we've a way of getting ALL of us outta here fast, they're gonna come at us in waves until we're weathered and round-stone dead."
I could see the battle fury in Crackles' eyes. The happy-go-lucky trust the Prophet had in his visions. The nurturing, unwavering protector spirit in Griz. They'd go down here and now for them people. It was Gunnz' cold tactical mind I appealed to. Burst's creative problem solving we needed more of.
For just a moment, an excursion into Shadow seemed a natural choice...though in any other case openin' a Road off the beaten Leypath would be suicide. I don't remember who brought it up but I was making sure to emphasize one point "...there's gotta be a way to collapse the thing behind us, that Shadow Portal, or the chase'll just expand to even less favorable terrain."
That horn promised little time to dally, and less to savor that first minor victory.
Quickly checking Silver and the leader for any items of obvious magical or mundane value, Gunnar says, “I know not how quickly we can open another shadow road, but I suggest we move on from here. Some of us should lead the oncoming ghouls on a merry chase, then others of us can sneak around to the town, freeing any remaining townsfolk and destroying the enemy’s capability to spread the disease.”
Ingryd Leans on her Maul, her wounds bleeding and throbbing. As she looks down she takes a token, be it a ring or badge and places it on her person as she does she hears the horns and chuckles.
" If they come before we have a plan Ill hold what I can back I can hold long enough. Besides those people deserve a chance to live long happy lives!" Thr bearkin says ready to make her last stand for the freed slaves, her allies, no and her friends.
Luthael looks around at the destroyed undead in satisfaction. After a few heartbeats, he starts looking for Arianna's magic arrows. Gunnar should have a plan soon to follow. As he walks looking for signs of arrows, he prays to Khors for delivering them victory.
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Puffing, Aterro finally manages to run up to where the last of the melee had ended.
"So, Gunnar, you plan for us to have two forces, one to dally with the next attack, and one to circle around and strike the objective, eh?
The distracting force can distract in one of two ways. First would be as you say, to use speed and stealth to stay -just- ahead of the forces so they are always in chase but never in contact. I see only one of us that has the capabilities for so doing this merry dance."
His close-shaven pate turns to start at the diminutive Scramsax.
"Of course how this force could be salvaged once the objective is complete is not entirely known....
Or, the distraction could be one of GLORIOUS COMBAT! To this we can have a stand of stout yeomen, who man a prepared position and force the attackers to lay siege and fight on unfavorable terms. Thus, once the objective is completed, then the second force could turn and catch the besiegers in the rear where they can be crushed in good order!
Otherwise we must needs dance to the tune of the Shadow Road as the halfling is going on about, and embrace all the dangers that therein entails."
Having been so recently held hostage by the whims of this quasi-magic, he shudders at traveling that way after so recently getting out.
"Unfortunately, We're banged up and I don't think I'm going to have a lot of tricks left for a fight once we make sure everyone's patched up," Arianna says as she runs around gathering the arrows that missed.
Arianna does her best to find those arrows that missed their targets, but between the dwindling light and the confusion of battle she loses track of where several of them might have landed. After taking as much time as possible to search, she only manages to locate three of the wooden tipped arrows.
At the same time Gunnar searches a few of the corpses. The leader has little left of value although the warrior's axe radiates a small amount of dark arcane power. He also carries a second dark stone similar to the one used to cancel out Luthael's first conjuration of fire magic.
Moving over to the scraggly juniper tree, the dwarf searches the more resourceful Sliver. However, he finds little of practical use. A bag of thirty four gold coins. All stamped with the Emperor's undying visage on the front and the eternal flaming skull of the Empire on the back. He also finds a scroll with what appears to be list of several spell components. Most appear to be typical, at least typical for an undying necrophage of the Eternal Empire. But one does stand out as the dwarf reads through the list. Ruby Sea Dragon Bone.
After pocketing his finds, the dwarf manages to sense a ley line not too far away. About two miles south.
Luthael hands an arrow that he found to Arianna and asks, "What else did you see over there? What's the best way to help the prisoners? I've some blessings left but not my most powerful."
"Do we need to regroup somewhere, so we can strike somewhere that they least expect?"
”Right, here is a magical battle axe someone can use,” offers Gunnar.
Sensing the return of magic to his magical horn, he says, ”Let’s find a defensible place to lure them in,” . ”The stealthy ones should set off soon to circle around to the town, and the rest of us can dig in after we get some healing. Once we have drawn them into close combat, I will sound the horn and summon the barbarians of Valhalla to flank the ghouls. With some luck and blessing of the gods we may yet prevail,” he adds, thinking quickly.
”Once we are set, Scramsax, maybe you can use your paints to make a pit trap or some such in front of us and/or a hidden escape route behind us if we are overwhelmed,” adds Gunnar.
Ingryd scans the scenery and distance and takes it all in.
”Perhaps a simpler plan would be best,” agrees Gunnar after the short discussion. ”Head back to camp and save those villagers we can after planting further seeds here that this is a gnomish betrayal. If the ghouls and gnomes fight each other and we get a rest, we should more easily prevail when we eventually take the fight to them.”
"That'd be grand," Arianna says, feeling every bit of the pain she's in now that the adrenaline and euphoria have begun to wear off. "I'd hate for my hard work to go to waste."
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It took me a while, but I got all caught up. Heart had to calm a few ticks, and watching that spongy dark summer mist absorb the final light-cries of dusk I had that moment. This was that place Ari had come from, not so long ago...just before the sprout grew. She didn't just want them dead, she wanted them to kill each other.
Heh. I might've been with a similar intent, had the opportunity presented. What? You didn't think I was a killer? Killed a halfling once.
But the ruse had to carry on. The gnomes were betrayers, as it would be revealed. Henceforth, ghouls and gnomes have horrid interactions in the dark. For the price of a few pigments...was a fair deal to me.
I started with a terrific stroke of crimson, seeming to capture the last rays of dusk away from the shadows above. The line swept to a folium, and the tiny hats were complete. A mix of green took red to grey, and a jump with my line there became a soapstone carving of la'Affrat...the creature Tavis had identified from another dimension. If one looked closely they would find an imperfection in the shape of a ghoul dong. I ended with splashes of pink in large wasteful quantities around the scene...just to make it look more gnomish.
Or so the Prophet had named him: "Laffy Rat".
The twinkling stars initially shine down upon the rapid brush strokes of the halfling as she conjures a stylish variety of gnomish hats and other items to scatter about the smoldering, scarred battlefield. But by the time Scramsax completes her latest magical masterpiece a fog has settled in. Arianna immediately recognizes the stench of eel and rot in the moist air from her earlier jaunt into the heart of the befouled village. Whether natural or a manifestation of some dark magic, the murky eel pens are clearly the source of the enclosing mist.
A dozen or more former prisoners sit huddled around the stone fire ring shivering as they are too afraid to actually light a fire. Mamluk is perched in a nearby tree. His tail twitches back and forth as cautious eyes watch the wretched former captives. Liking neither the still hungry looks or scent of the poor folk the cat remains ensconced in the heights even after Gunnar returns to the camp.
The camp. A once tidy site. Is now scattered with the remnants of cheese rinds, bread crumbs, and cloth that once wrapped dried meats and sausages. Packs are open with most of the contents scattered about by the desperate search for food. All that really remain are a few meager sacks of uncooked rice and oats along with the herbs and spices used to flavor a meal.
Several footprints lead off into the darkness. Those with just enough strength to carry them a bit further away from evil's grasp or at least so they hope. As Gunnar, Luthael, Aterro, Arianna, Ingryd and finally Scramsax return to the camp, frightened eyes turn their weak, exhausted gazes toward the gore and blood stained adventurers. A few begin to scramble to their feet and back away while others simply lie on the ground moaning in pain and clutching their stomachs that ripple in an all to familiar sign of demonic infection.
In the dark of night, horns sound once again. Closer, likely from the sight of the recent battle. Calls answer further north. Those in the village. A cadence of signals back and forth. The eerie, mournful calls of the Imperial horns grating on nerves and ears alike until finally all goes quiet except for the few slow chirrups of late season crickets.
An hour or so later rumbles of sorcery echo once again in the cool mountain air. More horns blast. The distant cacophony in the direction of the village lasts for no more than a half a glass. Then silence and the night insects once again are all that fills the night air.
"Luthael, I know you hate the Shadow Roads, but they need your help and we can't risk your light being seen," Arianna tells the priest before she starts doing what she can to clean up the campsite.
"I know you are tired, terrified, and in pain, but we need to leave here. Please, help me clean this up and get everyone on their feet," Arianna pleads with the recently freed villagers. "And I wouldn't try eating Mamluk," she adds as she sees the cat in the tree. "Fairy dust wouldn't taste all that good."
Grumbling as he returns to camp and sees the state it has been left in, he snaps at the prisoners, ”Have you no manners? I send Mamluk to rescue you and you rip apart our camp!”
Turning to Mamluk, Gunnar calls up and says, ”Thank you Mamluk, for guiding these ungrateful sots to safety.”
He sits down at the base of the tree protectively, but not before saying quietly to Luthael, ”Let us ensure none are infected.”
Gunnar gets out his spellbook and replenishes a bit of his arcane energy after binding his wounds so that they might heal a bit.
"Khors will light our way in the Shadow Roads again." Luthael replies to Arianna as he collects and repacks his gear.
"Gunnar, be easy. They are pitiful and hungry. The blessing of Khors can feed them all, but I need to rest and recover of the fight with the ghouls." The prophet lightly chastises the dwarf.
"They were being starved. I don't remember getting much food from my captors, and I doubt the ghouls are any kinder than the gnomes," Arianna says to Gunnar. "Then there was that tent with the symbol on it. I heard a scream come from there and saw bloody-mouthed ghouls walking out of it."
I had only one question for those freeloaders "Who ate all the salami?" Didn't have the nerve to float my real question Which one of you is infected?
Ingryd stands and watches. She was tired ans sore. The large bear maiden befins ro wrap herself up. Binding herself in hopes of stanchinf the blood.
She also was looking to keep away from the refugees until she got clean.
Gunnar mentally communicates with Mamluk, trying to determine how many villagers left the camp and if they were infected. He is thinking they need to be tracked down and rounded up before they die and/or spread the contagion.
The gathering of pitiful men, women, and a few children shrink away from the Gunnar's wrath. A few of the women do their best to try and retidy the camp and everyone's scattered belongings, although their efforts are slow and weak because of their obvious sickly and weakened state.
"We beg your p-p-pardon sir and your f-f-f-forgiveness." Stammers the oldest man. Flesh hangs from what was certainly once a fit and even handsome frame. His hands and face weathered by sun, wind, and rain speak of a life used to working outdoors among the fields. The ragged, filthy remnants of a simple workshirt and pants barely cover his scarred and battered body. "We d-d-did not know anyone s-s-s-still lived outside the cages and thought what was here free f-f-for the t-t-taking. We thought the wildcat had somehow s-s-s-stumbled upon some other victim's forgotten camp." The man and the others all dip their heads and cower back from an expected beating.
*Burp!*
The abrupt sound follows the question regarding a certain salami stash. The first belch is quickly echoed by a duo of others. A boy of about twelve, dark haired, dark eyes and pale skin beneath a layer of smoke, dirt and grime inches away from the halfling's scattered belongings. Moving in unison behind the boy are a pair of ginger haired twin sisters. Their own dark eyes bashfully watching both dwarf and halfling from behind the thin cover of their slightly older brother. One gently nudges away the torn remains of a salami wrapper.
"The kitty pointed it out to us, miss." Says one of the girls.
"True, as true, miss." Says the other. "Opened up the pack for us he did."
"Meowwrrr!"
Mamluk's eyes go wide and then narrow with consternation as the cat ducks behind Gunnar. They were looking at me like I was roasted rat on a stick. The cat relays to Gunnar. So I gave the little pinchers something else to focus their hungry eyes upon. The fact that the cat's breath has a distinctly spicy sent to it, might cause someone of a suspicious nature to question the veracity of the cat's claim, but with nothing but a single torn, crumpled wrapper there's little enough evidence to provide any real proof.
As for Gunnar's inquiry into the health and numbers of those who stumbled on, Mamluk can merely offer a feline shrug before lifting a leg to lick at some burr caught in a rather delicate region. They all smell horrible and sickly. He mentally says and then passes along an image of four others scurrying off into the darkness while the rest remained in the small campsite.
The loss of the salami is a constant niggle in Scramsax's mind as she tries to puzzle out the various signals passing back and forth among the ghouls. She never really is able to pin down a solid understanding, but ends up being convinced they are pulling back toward the camp and village. A guess that appears to be confirmed when a few rumbles of magical blasting and eldritch power would indicate further conflict in that direction.
Ignoring the discussion about the sausages, Gunnar says, ”Four people continued on from this camp. If they are to live, Luthael, they will need your divine blessing to overcome the parasites.”
”Does anyone want to come with me and help return them to camp before they die or infect others?” he asks.
Worst was them bastiches scarfin' me stash, on the edge of death as they were. Hmm? Oh no, I didn't do anything crazy. No cursing, no sabotage, no throat slitting at all. I mean, only an insane person would lose it over some cured meats...especially without hard evidence in hand. After all its just finely minced and seasoned choice cuts that have been lovingly matured for a year, bespackled with the finest lard cubes extracted from backfat, blended into the perfect texture complimenting ale and wine alike. Yep, I'm 100% positive the dark angel of vengeance gave them a pass that day...and I certainly had nothing to do with any of their fates.
Course it was that mangy rat-nibbler masterminded the whole thing. As an ex-rug, the creature just didn't have the street-smarts of Dekatron.
I had later heard the legend of the Great Ziyad, Dek's previous employer. Money had all forms in that place (Dek's place I mean) same as here. Unimaginable gems from the Elemental Earth, with the 6-dimensional rainbows that powered the essence of contemplation. Them hag-towns used the teeth of adulterers, just as weighty on the scale. Penny-stock Devils sucked a year or two's worth of soul, for the desperate wanderer eager to get anywhere but here. But of course Gold Coin...with an infinite number of faces from countless cultures. Ziyad could get his hands on a good share of it, with the right timing.
See Torch was wealthy, despite being a Gate-Town of the Outlands filled spire to spire with criminal families. There was one held the Bank, was most powerful of 'em all. Bank of Abbathor? Yeah, I had never heard of it neither.
This was the repository of every sacrifice to the god of greed in the multiverse.
Was some kind of transplanar conduit that connected it to the other rare Banks spaced around that odd Spire. Transactions used some hijacked Elder Brain neurons that filled the underground caverns of the Planes. Thing had a pulse, like you and me. Dekatron was Ziyad's creation, with a sole purpose to play that pulse...her microsecond reactions the only thing that could forge the signal.
Ziyad was a showman as much as a thief. Had a bit of Book Cookin' as a Plan B, I suppose if Dek's brain melted instantly. He had gathered up investors and gamblers alike to watch the celestial leopard's performance, padding the strings of the ancient consciousness behind all that wealth.
All bets were against her.
A lot of coin changed hand that night.
Was about that time I heard some commotion from back at Burst's Ground Zero. Gunnz was pushin' to get back some bravers that wandered off. I figured maybe them sounds and the missing were connected, so I had joined him.
One of the men looks up at Gunnar as he mentions those who moved on. He gives a half-hearted nod at the wizard.
"That'd be Phineas and his boys along with old Mik." The man says, his voice dry and scratching from both age and weakness. "Phin kept talking about some old hunting cabin not so far away. Used to belong to some lord or lady years and years ago." His head twists back and forth on a narrow neck giving him the look of a scraggly, starved crane. "Never heard of it me self. But Phin's hunted these woods and mountains since practically the day he dropped out of his momma and into this wretched world."
He starts to scramble to his feet but is delayed but a wracking coughing fit that ends with a glob of blood coating his hand. Wiping the crimson phlegm on his filthy rags he wheezes and finishes climbing to his feet. His breathing is ragged and rough as he finally recovers enough to speak again.
"They weren't in much better shape than the rest of us." He utters. "Can't have got too far." He waves a stick think arm toward a couple of other equally miserable looking men among the group. "Come on Vidim, Laslo, let's do what we can to help these folk bring 'em back."
The other two nod tiredly and slowly climb to their feet. One, Vidim, grabs a hefty length of branch and leans on it as his starts to limp toward the beginnings of the trail.
In the distance back toward the village, horns and the occasional blast of magic still echo through the night, but at fewer and fewer intervals.
Luthael starts attending the survivors assessing their states of illnesses. He makes small talk with them to relax them into revealing their stories of home and capture. He wants to learn all of their names and stories, in order to best convince them of the pure and true sunlight of Khors.
Seeing that he must perform another cleansing ritual as he was taught, he inventories the necessary ingredients compared to how many need to receive it. He involves the survivors to collect everything as quickly as possible.
Not the greatest survivalist, Gunnar nonetheless follows along to bring the wanderers back while his friends are busy making preparations.
Ingryd stands taller still bloody and battered giggles as she follows the men and looks about clscannimg the ground.
She looks for tracks and paths hoping she can find these weak and sick folk so they can help them.
Figured on the way to the cabin of riches I'd pry a bit. "So...just what in the hell is the story with that village? Some kind of slaver hub? How long have them eel-breeders had it sieged? What's the name of it?" pokin' and jostlin' you know. "Besides their ghoul legions, they added any defenses?"
Yeah, guilty as charged, I was really searching for that clink at the bottom line. But Gunnz would out me right quick if I let on I was after treasure, or pretended to be anything but a gem-lusting scoundrel. Had to think of a delicate way to ask...phrase it a way the dwarf would want the answer to as well. "Say, what's the common trade out here anyhow...how'd this village come to prosper so long out in the middle of the Rothenian plains? I mean the luck ran dry, that much is clear...but everywhere else seems razed and picked over thrice already. Settlements 'returned to nature' even. Musta had some important business, eh? Or some powerful partners? Guessin' it were more than makin' lemonade. What you know of that winged b*tch singing, liked to tickle me eardrums?"
Course I had to ask about this Phin character as well. Way they had been talkin' bout him, sounded like some ranger. That one seemed more valuable to me. Might be knowin' some way to turn the terrain tables, eh? "This Phin...he a fighter?"
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"Name's Milo." The talkative older man offers to Luthael as the prophet of Khors begins to get a closer look at the ragged survivors of the ghoul's hospitality. "Born and raised in these mountains." He says gesturing toward the tall, snow-capped peaks of the Cloudwalls looming to the west. "Prospected, trapped, hunted, and eventually settled down in Blandezig where I've run...errr...used to run the mercantile for the last thirty years."
He nods toward a bedraggled middle-aged woman who doesn't do much more than stare into the darkness. Fear and pain are etched upon every inch of her filthy face.
"This is Darya." Milo says adding a sad shake of his head and he steps over and wraps a gentle, comforting arm around the lost woman's shoulders. "She and her husband Olaf ran the Unicorn and Tiger, Blandezig's inn. Was a nice, respectable inn. Many a merchant heading north to Zobeck would stop in just for a bit of Darya's sausage stew and apple pie." Stepping away from the woman, Milo leans in and whispers to Luthael. "It broke her when the ghouls took her youngest away." The man's hands shake as he closes his eyes against the memory. A long pause. A moment to bury the fear. Blinking back tears, for Olaf, Darya and their family had been the same as his own over the years, Milo takes a deep breath and looks around as several of the other broken souls gathered in the little camp.
"Mariya and Yelena." He points out two other women entering their older years. Both sit hunched over in pain, griping their bellies and moaning. "Mariya is a fine seamstress. Dmitri was her husband. Farmed several acres along the creek. Yelena, her sister, worked the neighboring plot of land. Grew herbs and some of the best greens, carrots, and potatoes in the village. A green thumb." His brow furrows in anger and frustration. "Course the best fields were flooded by those blasted eel pens."
"Vidim and Laslo here used to run the mill and do a bit of tanning. Laslo there makes some of the finest, softest leather goods you'll ever find. Better than anything you'll get in Zobeck."
Looking out among the remaining former prisoners, he shakes his head. "Don't really know these other folk." He says. "Poor souls were brought in by those witch-cursed gnomes. Including those three over there." He says tilting his head toward the young boy and twin girls. "Most of them haven't said much. Course I don't think the gnomes treated 'em any better than the ghouls. Maybe worse as usually half the ones brought in the wagons arrived dead or nearly so. Caused a bit of a fuss among them gray-skinned bastards."
When Scramsax asks about the fortunes of Blandezig Milo offers a knowing nod of his stork-like head. He gaze shifts out to the east where the foothills of the mountains eventually give way to the open plains. "Life here is plenty hard. But there was a bit of trade. Merchants trading between Zobeck and Courlandia...especially since the fall of Krakovar cut off most of the northern routes."
He looks at Gunnar. "A few of his folk maintain holds up in the mountains. Not as prosperous as their Ironcrag kin, but gold and silver enough to keep a clan or two happy. I used to sell a good bit of dwarf made goods to traders who didn't want to risk the high passes or tread deeper into the Blood Kingdoms."
"Good soil, good water and a bit of trade." He says pointing back toward the village. "That along with being out here on the back side of nowhere. Far from the centers of power, far enough from the tribes and Khazzaki who make living on the plains a futile and deadly endeavor. Blandezig offered a hard, but decent enough life for those willing to work hard. At least it was."
"As for Phin...well he's a peculiar sort. Gets along better with the wolves and wilds than he does most folk." A soft chuckle escapes his throat almost like a crows cackle. "We've known each other since we both could skip stones across the millpond. Trapped together for a few years until I decided I'd had enough slogging through the snow, ice, and cold for a few more pelts."
"Anyway, he's good enough with a bow and blade. Can't survive out here and not at least know a few basics." His gaze takes in the gore covered bearkin, her tattered dress and maul that could easily crush his own head like a grape in a press. "But he couldn't have taken on those legionnaires like you folk did. He's a good enough shot to put an arrow into an eye from a hundred paces, but unless there's a good pelt or value in the carcass, Phin's was more likely to just slip back into the woods to be on his own." A frown and shadow passes over Milo's features. "Course, I can't say now. He spent more than a few days in the clutches of one of those Blood Sisters. It seemed to break him somehow."
One thing does tickle your nose for treasure and financial gain. The mention of dwarven trade. Where there's dwarves, there's gold. That's as sure a law of nature as blue sky and green grass. And if the old man was selling trade goods made by a local clan well there's a good chance some of those goods had some serious street value. Assuming the ghouls haven't already stolen it all.