Trevor grumbles softly as he is awakened by the shuffling. Understanding the plan, he simply turns back over and falls asleep, happy to play the role of the sleeping ones. Natural actor, he snores softly, dreaming of sheep jumping off a cliff.
Trevor
I guess in some ways I would seem to be a priest, but my calling is much easier to understand. I draw my power and inspiration from the power of nature itself, from the animals, plants, and storms... all contain divine energy for me. Much less complicated than following the strictures of some god.
As far as virtue and bravery go... I think that might be a personal thing. Sometimes you have to pick your battles so to speak. You can't see every little incident in your life as a battle, but try to look on a larger scale and see life as a battle that forces you to make tough decisions sometimes. I believe that if you follow your heart instead of trying to wonder what everyone else... man or god thinks of your decisions you will find life easier.
It seemed that Vrindel had no more lain his head down than he was shaken to wakefulness by Aterro. What now.
The big Trollkin rises to his feet looking for his staff. "Let's see what they want. Could just be travelers looking for shelter from the approaching storm. Stand ready. I will greet them".
Vrindel steps from the shelter into the approaching storm eyes peeled for trouble. "Ho! Who goes there?".
"Well if you hadn't busted up his favorite slave, we wouldna' be out 'ere lookin' sleepin' on the ground t'begin wit'." Grouses the second voice.
"How was I t'know the weakling elf couldn't take a bit 'o fun." The third quips back. Just before Vrindel's voice carries out into the night.
Exclamations of surprise and the sound of steel being drawn echo back from about fifty paces up the road. There's a bit of whispered muttering followed by the quick slap of a meaty fist on flesh immediately followed by a short yelp. A few heartbeats later the first gruff voice calls back from the dark.
"Ahoy up t' road!" The voice calls. "We be the rightful..er..um..." the voice pauses for a second, searching for the correct word. "...ah...occupiers...that's it... of this 'ere land and it 'ppears you're breakin' t' rules by campin' in this 'ere shelter o' ours."
"So unless you want ta face a beatin' or worse, you best pack up and head back from where'ver you come from."
As the voice talks from the road, it is easy to hear the cracking of sticks and rustling of underbrush where at least one of the intruders is trying to 'sneak' around to the other side of the ramshackle shelter. Clearly it is not someone who is accustomed to moving quietly in a densely wooded or overgrown setting.
The cheerful gnome steps out behind the trollkin and greets the strangers, "well met, travelers. There's more than enough room to shelter and enjoy the heat of our fire. I offer a guest oath, so please sheath your weapons."
Trevor ‘s eyes open swiftly as threats are made. He grunts and sits on his blanket, visibly unhappy having his beauty sleep interrupted so. He stays quiet though, not wanting to betray their numbers.
Slowly, his hand search for his armour, while he wonders if he’ll have time to put it on.
Oh right! Hmm...
And he grabs a javelin and his axe, thanking Khors reluctantly for the challenges that forge his mettle.
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As Trevor sleeps and Vrindel and Ibrox talk, Aterro shakes his head, having not the ken of why they are not attacking immediately a threat so apparent to his eyes.
He frowns as one of their number in-expertly attempts a flanking maneuver, and, knowing Thor calls upon him to take on the most difficult missions, even single-handed, directs his steps in that direction.
Like some primordial guardian made of steel and hate, Aterro appears before the clumsy flanker, his heavy warhammer held in an easy grip. "That you are circling around makes me think you are a warrior, who at least has heard of tactics. But that you have done it poorly tells me you are a poor warrior," his deep voice rumbles out.
"I shall at least wait until we hear the main group give the screams of battle and the clash of weapons before I kill you.
But take heart, when you see whatever powers you hold dear, you may tell them with honor that you fell in single combat to a WarCleric of Thor.
If you worship Loki, it might even get you a free drink upgrade."
Trevor is doing a convincing impression of sleep.. did he even get a hand on his weapon to be ready? I've been in enough bar fights to know a gang doesn't send one of their number creeping into a flanking position when they mean well.
Finnigan is relieved when the lad sits up. With no way to communicate with his companions without exposing his position, he decides to break the ice.
Aterro should be able to handle one by himself. I'll stick a pin in the one making the demands.. I'll wait and let them cooperate with Ibrox first... but either way I'll shoot. There's no way we bed down with them peaceably for the night....
Fin times his shot so the bandits are at a disadvantage having sheathed their weapons and they don't know what hit them. He fires at the leader who had done the talking.
The scarred and sturdy looking dwarf in chain mail and with a bear fur draped across his shoulder and back, appraises Aterro thoughtfully after stepping back a pace when the war cleric emerges from the dark right next to him. The occasional flicker of the fire light, glitters in his dark eyes as he spits off to the side.
"Well, well. Would'na expected to see one o' t' Thunderers own is this desolate piss pot." He says, then raises his voice back toward the others. "Got a fellow who says he's one o' Thor's priests ov'r 'ere." He says. "Might be t' little runts on t' up and up."
"Aye, not often we 'ere the old ways quoted 'ere in t' South." The leader says thoughtfully removing his hand from the haft of the well oiled and very sharp looking axe. The apparent leader takes a step forward toward Vrindel and Ibrox. The raider sports a long red beard with streaks of gray, and a scar under his right eye. His companion, another dwarf similar in garb and weaponry also has a red beard, but his is a bit fuller and shows no signs of age. The two have a similar bulbous nose and rounded cheek bones. Both where bearskins cloaks that cover their back and shoulders. The leader has three silver, knot work arm bands on his right arm, the other has two.
"We'll accept t' offer of hearth and honor t' peace...." The dwarf doesn't get the final words out before the sharp twang of Finnigan's crossbow sounds in the night. His small bolt simply bounces off of the stout chain shirt causing no harm, but the lead dwarf growls deep in his throat.
"A bunch 'o oathbreakers, eh!? Should'a known there'd be nothin' but unworthy slave scum 'ere!" He shouts reaching for his axe. "Wilem, take that coward priest o' the Deceiver's head from his shoulders. Me an' Dee will deal with these two and whoever 'da yellow son o' a goat fired that baby arrow is."
Ibrox's fiery orange red hair finally matches a hellfire temper that apparently boils deep within. The normally smiling and cheerful gnome explodes when the small bolt bounces off of the dwarf's chain shirt. Finnagan might as well as shot the gnome for the damage that was taken to his honor, integrity, and offer of hospitality.
He screams, "Finnigan, you witless, walking pair of boots. Come out here and take your consequences of shoot first and ask questions later strategy that puts your traveling companions to shield you."
The gnome waves his hands and creates an extension of a thicket and treeline near the shelter. Then, he dashes behind it taking total cover from the dwarves.
Behind the new shrubbery, he calls out, "Attero, Vrindel, let the dwarves pummel Finnigan into unconsciousness to teach him what honor and hospitality is. Hopefully, we can salvage this potential friendship yet!"
Dwarves! There goes all hope of making allies with them against the dhampir! You!ve done it now Finnigan old boy! You’ve done it now!
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Aterro is struck as man speaks and, with the speech and some time to adjust, realizes he is facing one of the much-storied reavers he has heard about.
Hearing Ibrox's screaming, it's not hard to piece together what happened.
Aterro nods...and turns aside.
His deep voice rumbles out from his full helm. "I accept the Justice of the PeaceBreaker. If you pledge TrucePact, I will allow you Single Combat against he that fired the arrow.
...I will also overlook your leader's harsh words, spoken in passion, no doubt.
Or you can strike at me and I will extract justice of my own.
Your call."
Trevor stands up and moves to Aterro’s side: ”Finn did the right thing. They were sneaking up on us. They asked for trouble. NOW YOU WANT TO SHARE A FIRE OR SHARE INSULTS, OR JUST SHARE BLOWS?! Your call...”
Vrindel steps to the front, lays down his staff, and holds up his empty hands.
"STOP! There is no need for bloodshed this night. Everyone show themselves!. This is all a big misunderstanding. You thought we were bandits or some other miscreants, and we thought the same. Our man should not have shot at you without cause, but we have experienced much drama lately, and his trigger finger is itchy. Again, no excuse, but let's sit by the fire and bring this encounter to a peaceful end".
Persuasion
"We are very fortunate that at this time no blood has been shed... can we keep things that way".
Insight towards new arrivals
Insight if there is some curse affecting his comrades causing them to make quick irrational decisions... Arterro excepted...
Finnigan stands up.
"Dwarves!? Why didn't you say so? I thought they were bloodsucking vampire elves come to bleed us dry and make our dessicated husks dance on sorcerous puppet strings!"
Oddly, he means it!
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Amazingly, Vrindel's words have an effect on the maddened dwarves, even the leader. His eyes lock with the trollkin's and also glances over to Zove, shadow fire glittering in her hand. His frown sinks even deeper as he gazes at the glimmering forest conjured by Ibrox's magic, then over to the dark doorway of the shelter where Finnigan crouches.
As his eyes narrow in thought, the blade of his axe lowers slightly. The leader holds up a hand as his companion leans in and starts to say something.
"Wilem!" He shouts. "Get your hide back over here!" At the command the dwarf standing near Aterro, offers the cleric a quick shrug, turns and crashes through the woods to join the other two a few seconds later.
"An interesting group 'o travelers you are." He says to Vrindel. "Not of'en you see troll folk, gnomes, and a shadow elf all together. Not to mention a priest 'o Thor and his peasant servant boy. Unusual." He runs a rough, calloused hand along the back of his neck; thinking for a few seconds longer. When Finnigan calls out about vampires and puppets he finally comes to some kind of conclusion.
"'Ere's me only offer." He says, palm tapping the haft of his axe. "We will hold our blades for the moment, but there must be judgement for the oathbreaking. The gods will say if it t'was accident or not. Me an' your twitchy, unhinged friend fight in the Circle. If t' gods judge me the better, we stay and you lot, leave....go back south." His hand points back down the coast road so recently traveled. "If you win, the shelter is yours for 't night. We go our own way an' leave you in peace."
"What say you?"
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Aterro lets the dwarf slink away, honor satisfied.
The leader's speech has him chuckling. "Come, boy," he says, grinning to Trevor. "Perhaps someday you will be granted the right to wear armor like the rest of the warriors," he says, barly holding in a good guffaw.
As the leading dwarf continues to talk, he gathers 'round and joins the group, his own head bobbing up and down in agreement.
Until...
As the leader grows quiet, waiting for an answer, Aterro sighs and speaks, even if it is out of turn. "You know I can not agree to that. Thor does not teach us to leave our fate to the...mettle...of others. To abandon my quest for another's want of STEEL while I yet live is unthinkable.
Also, that is...not what the circle is for. You have a quarrel, then enter the circle and settle it, of course. But to have an entire group that is NOT in the circle abide by it? That is an overstep.
Why make it more than it is? Have thy Circle with young Fin, but that should be the end of it, and, regardless, we both can stay, honor sated.
Unless, of course, one fight is not enough for you this night..."
Aterro cracks his neck and his knuckles work the shaft of his hammer.
"...let it not be said a WarCleric ever backed away from battle when it was offered."
Trevor argues back to Aterro: "He meant Finn, no? He thinks I am the servant?"
He pouts and glares and turns bright red, then says: "I agree with Aterro!" He sounds a little too much like someone trying to ingratiate themselves to their masters. As he realizes he is making the Dwarf's point, he grows brighter, almost lighting the night.
He flexes his fingers around his axe and javelin, ready for anything.
Now, that everything has settled down to talking again, the cheerful gnome steps out from behind his magical shrubbery. His large natural smile has returned to his face since both Vrindel and Attero supports his notion of honor and hospitality.
"Thank you, Master Dwarf, to stay your blades. There's no need to invoke a Circle. We've no disagreement or challenge. You wouldn't challenge a boy for ignorance of proper honor or hospitality, would you? No, you would just woop him, so he would remember his lesson. As I was the one who offered you a guest offer, I offer you the choice of punishment for the boy. Just don't permanently maim or kill him. Bruising and some blood is a learning experience. Then, you can join us at our campfire and share stories of our adventures." The gnome bewilderingly haggles for a new deal.
If the dwarf refuses to back down from a circle and maintains his challenge for the right of him and his companions to spend the evening here, then Ibrox knows where the material for Trevor's new boots are coming from. Because, the dwarf has refused his offer of hospitality.
"Well I've never had to fight sober before. I wonder if I'll do better or worse? I tell you what, if any one of you wants to see me win... promise me a draught of whiskey in leu of a raggedy campsite as my prize, and then I think you'll find my heart is really in it!"
Finnigan starts pacing out a span of six steps as he speaks, demonstrating his familiarity with the customs of the north.
"An awful lot 'o talk." The dwarf says, spitting to the side as one of his companions drags the back of his axe along the ground in a rough circle as paced out by Finnigan.
"Looks t' me like you are all oath brothers o' some kind, so the success or failure 'o one should stand for t' group." He shrugs. "But mehbe I have 't wrong o' it. Mehbe you owe nothing t' the other." He looks thoughtful for a few seconds and once again eyes narrow in thought as he slips out of his chain shirt and hands it to one of the other dwarves.
"So be it. If I win you lot can stay." He says, causing immediate surprise from his companions who both start to speak, but once again are kept quiet by a quick look from the lead dwarf.
He cracks his knuckles a few times and then steps into the ring eyes glowering in the darkness.
"Now...no more talk. Either step into the ring or flee." He says curling his big hands into meaty fists.
Vrindel watches events unfold around him, and decides he wants no part of the spectacle.
"Fine. Do what you want. I'm going back to bed".
The big Trollkin heads back into the ruins to his bedroll, and tries to go back to sleep.
I guess I'll never understand why violence seems to be the go-to for settling disputes.
"Did he say that if he wins, we can stay? Is this some kind of conundrum?" he asks Aterro softly.
Finnigan tosses his leathers in a pile with his dagger and crossbow. Going a step further he takes off his shirt.
"Bbbuuuurrrrrrrrrr.... That's crisp! Let's see, how does this usually go? Ordinarily I'd have had ten or twelve whiskeys when suddenly some bloke tells my best mate's bird she has an apple of an arse! Well, dwarf, what do you think of Zove here? Have you any choice words about her anatomy to get the proceedings underway? Barring that, would you mind remarking that Krakova is better off in the hands of it's undead lords or something to that effect?"
Growing impatient with the untalkative dwarf Finnigan tries slapping himself in the face a few times to get the juices flowing.
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I'm as at a loss as thee. But if Fin loses I'm going to challenge the insult-hurling dwarf myself and that'll put an end to it. I'm still deciding if he'll live," Aterro murmurs to Trev, the only thing keeping him from entering GLORIOUS COMBAT at being called an Oathbreaker was the dwarf already being engaged in an HonorFight.
Seeing Fin struggle to give himself battleheart, Aterro takes it upon himself to aid the struggle. Stomping over to the..."Ranger"...he cocks back and slaps him dead in the face. he shouts in his face. he yells.
Feeling that he's done all he can, he returns to a good observation post next to Trev.
"He who stands with me shall be my brother," he intones, as if that explains everything.
Trevor, still puzzled, and unimpressed by Aterro's answer, shouts, asking the Dwarf: ”Ok wait, what happens if you lose?”
As Aterro turns away from him, Finnigan takes a wild haymaker of a swing, hitting nothing but air as the warpriest steps away. Seeing him step out of the circle, Fin shrugs. ”Right. Well it appears you’re disqualified then, Aterro. You’ve left the ring. Who’s next? Oh, right.”
Whirling around, he socks the dwarf reaver in the face.
Finnigan lands the first punch as his fist lands with a solid crack to a hard dwarven jaw. The unexpectedly quick blow causes the reaver to rock back slightly and throws off his first punch which whistles by the ranger. Then much to the reaver's misfortune a gnat happens to fly right up his nose causing his next blow to be quite ineffective as he spends more time snorting and shaking his head than actually fighting.
The dwarf named Wilem shakes his head grimly. "Com'on Vadik, quite messin' around. My baby sister could put on a better fight than you."
"COME ON FINN! PUNCH HIM HAAAARD! AIM LOW IF YOU MUST!" shouts Trevor, completely taken by the fight, his questions long forgotten.
”What’s that you say, Trevor? Aim for the jewels? Very well!”
Fin fakes a groin punch but instead headbutts the dwarf trying to break his nose and thereby impair and disorient him.
Advantage
Vadik doesn't fall for Finnigan's feint and instead the dwarf lures the ranger into his own small trap. He fakes a move to protect from the below the belt shot, but then snaps left just as Finnigan's tries his headbutt. There's a solid CRACK as the dwarf's big fist connects. Finnigan's head rocks back and to his onlooking companions his nose is now bent at an odd angle.
"That's it!" Shouts Wilem. "'Bout time you stopped goin' easy."
From the ring, Vadik's eyes flash toward his companion for a moment, but then quickly return back to the fight as Finnigan recovers, dances in close and delivers a couple of quick, solid punches to the gut. The dwarf counters with a missed left jab, but then his right strikes out with unexpected quickness landing two quick shots to the midsection.
Vadik's chest heaves like a bellows and a trickle of blood drips from a small cut above his eye, but otherwise the dwarf seems to be in fine shape and enjoying himself as the fight wears on. Blood pours from Finnigan's broken nose and the ranger seems more winded at this point. The numbers on Zove's scoreboard quickly increase as more blows are exchanged, the two fighters sliding back and forth in the small circle, each trying to land a final blow that would end the contest and secure the positive judgement of the gods.
.
"OOOWWW! Don't back down Finn! You're handing about as much as you're getting!" Trevor shouts, completely taken by the fight.
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Seeing that Fin will probably fall soon, Aterro starts unbuckling his weapons belt and taking his armor off, getting ready for his turn at the dwarf.
He cares not that his challenge comes so soon after a fight--the rules of the circle are not so formal as that. He must either fight or, worse, be called craven.
Thus is the peril of angering a whole group of people at once.
Vrindel continues to try and sleep through the Barbaric Testosterone show.
Finnigan starts to swoon. He feels totally outmatched. He’s used to having his nerves dulled by alchohol in these situations. What’s more he sees Vrindel ‘s sleeping disinterested form. Hearing Trevor’s remarks he points at the Druid and explains himself. ”No mate, you don’t know the half of it. Getting punched is worse than a bloody hangover. And look at Vrindel there. I fear he won’t be sympathetic to calling on the magic of nature to heal wounds which could have been avoided. I forf...” he starts to utter his forfeiture of the match. Then he sees Aterro. Oh sodding hell. That one will heal me when this is done, I don’t doubt it one bit.
”I for.... I forgot how ugly your mother was!” he spits, swinging in with a wild haymaker of a punch.
"Finn! Keeps your hands up! No! What are you doing? You're playing with him? Finish him already so we can get to bed!"
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Aterro clenches and unclenches his fists, heavy muscles and raw knuckles cracking and flexing.
"Trevor, you needn't bother. He said so himself he is fighting without his usual...rituals.
After I pummel their leader, I suspect his peons will toe the battle line. I will make a great dent in them, but I doubt I could finish them all.
Promise me that you will likewise follow suit and finish this.
After all, he called you an Oathbreaker too. Would your fail before thy lord twice in one day?"
Trevor looks to Aterro: "Look, I'm trying to w- Fail? What was the first time?"
Finnigan and the burly reaver exchange a few more glancing blows that cause little harm until the dwarf dips left and gets the scout to overcommit. With unexpected quickness the Vadik moves back right and is able to connect with another solid punch to Finnigan's already broken nose. With pain lancing through the bar fighter's brain his manages to connect with the dwarf's chin one last time before his eyes roll into the back of his head and he tumbles to the ground bruised, battered, and a bit less handsome with his nose bent unnaturally to the side. Zove's scoreboard flashes with more fireworks and bells as Vadik wins the first bout in the ring.
Catching his breath, the dwarf's eyes twinkle with a wild light as the rush continues to flow through his veins. He notices Aterro readying himself and grins after spitting out a bit of blood and a tooth.
"So, 'tis a round in the ring you seek as well." He says. "Thor has judged your companion, now we'll see what he thinks 'o his preacher." He chuckles and wipes the sweat and blood from his face with a cloth handed to him by one of his fellow reavers. Then he stands waiting for the next inevitable challenge.
Trevor rushes in to pick up Finn, if possible before his head hit the ground, and drags him out of the circle and sits him against the wall of the cabin.
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Aterro first helps Trevor carry Fin out the ring--a warrior honorably fallen should be treated honorably.
That done he steps to the edge of the circle.
"Finnigan is not a follower of The Thunderer, so do not say who has been judged here.
But soft, first tell me...why are you here? We are a bit South of Reaver territory still, so what mission hath our paths crossed over?"
At first Vadik seems a bit puzzled by Aterro's question, but then a big grin crosses his face.
"Why, we're doin' what reavers do e'ery spring. Raidin'. Gatherin' slaves, goods, and coin." He says with a laugh. "Now you finished talkin' and ready for a beatin' like your friend."
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Ibrox makes his way to Finnigan's side. He appears to make the unconscious man more comfortable with a wet rag on his face and exposed skin.
In fact, he is investigating and preparing the skin for use as parchment and making a set of boots, as well as a potential blood sacrifice to Ibrox if the time is right.
As Finn emerges, Trevor asks him: "They're reavers?"
He looks at Aterro preparing, then realizes and asks Finn: "Wait. What's a reaver?"
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Aterro looks down, sighs. Nodding in understanding he says, "And so you know that my country, so recently conquered, is weak. The structure that had been is sundered, and the undead that trample the ashes into the ground have not yet completed their conquest to insure security from outside influence.
So you come...perhaps, as you have came initially, not as liberators, or even a second round of conquerors, but as vultures, to pick your pathetic living off the dead."
He swallows, sighs again. He is sad.
"I regret that, after this night, I must call you friend. I shall grovel before you as the royal family does, beseeching thy aid, in whaterver form it comes--and at whatever price. For the enemy of my enemy IS my friend.
But now?
You ask what a reaver is, Trevor."
Aterro steps into the circle.
"He is a PARASITE!" Aterro roars, CHARGING at the dwarf. "By the Hammer of THOR YOU SHALL NOT WALK FROM HERE!" he cries, his fists imbued with martial glory, striking out in the only manner, and at the only time, he has left to him.
DM, you ask for 5 attacks. No, I say. You ask for 5 rounds.
And all of Thor's grace has not yet left me.
Aterro launches an initial set of blows landing with a quick right, the dwarf ducks a left and replies with a fierce right of his own. Moments later and with the fury of Thor running through his veins, Aterro lands two blows to the reaver's one. And the same again as the two fighters fists flash in a flurry of brutal exchanges.
The dwarf spits another tooth and his face is a bruised, bloody mess as Aterro comes in again landing two more blows. Winded and struggling to see out of his right eye, Vadik misses and misses again, the second time stumbling and barely catching himself before he could slip out of the ring.
Despite the beating he wears a wild and bloody grin. Spitting more blood he nods to Aterro. "A worthy challenger at last. It's been a'long while since I've felt t' might and glory o' a real fighter." He says through swelling lips. "Now let's see if you've the metal t' finish it."
Trevor stiffens visibly as understanding dawns on him. These were little better than the zombie-bugs they had been fighting, or the vampires that leached on his homeland...
Troubled, not knowing what to do in such circumstances, he knows at least what the immediate required. Leaving Finn to emerge slowly from the dark fog in his head, he rises and steps to the edge of the circle and shouts, his fist pounding the air above his head: "A-TE-RO! A-TE-RO! A-TE-RO! A-TE-RO! A-TE-RO!"