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Aterro shrugs at Trevor. "Betimes, I have no qualms about tossing down the gauntlet at one whom I know is mine foe.
But I see now, with battle not yet joined in earnest, that our previous encounter with the misguided-dwarves _was_ going fine...until someone shot a bolt after peace had been found.
Methinks that if we go into such a meeting with a more clear head and more naked goals, things might go smoother.
So too, warfare is not all about swinging one's hammer on the battlefield. We must take into account the -strategics- of the situation. If I slay this dwarf, and all his companions, out of hand, one might escape, and then warn the town.
We are lead to believe there may be more of them, and then we will have to fight many ships worth of these half-men, and that will make for a long day. And then, they might question -ANY- kindness they feel toward the country, making re-taking it all the harder.
But, if we can be amiable now, then perhaps when they see the merchant to our rear, they will know kindness, and we can operate in the North freely. Or, at least, with an easier time than we might if their vision turns red where 'ere we tread."
Aterro sighs, contemplating.
"And, yes, perhaps seeing so protean a person as thyself in quiet contemplation has put me in a more docile mood. 'Tis good to try new things. Just as Lord Thor betimes is known to swap mead for wine, so I might allow a moment's breath of speech to precede any blood-letting this day may bring."
"Well, hello, Mr. Bushortree. How are you today? Unfortunately, Vadik and his two companions are not with us. We saw them yesterday. They were complaining about the chief." The silver-tongued gnome greets the reaver guards stepping out in the open.
"We're on our way to the Frost Maiden Inn in Nargenstal. We have a message for Britta Gleamgaurd. Is the village far? Would you please escort us, or show us the way? You can call me Ibrox Redcap. I'm a mapmaker."
”Yes, a bit unseemly that was, how they carried on whinging about that chief of there’s! How bad could the bloke be, I began to wonder...”
Finnigan chimes in to lend credence to Ibrox’s account.
Vrindel completely unsure how his companions are preparing to react, decides to stay silent for now... for the most part.
He steps towards the contemplative Arterro and lightly taps on his helmet.
"Arterro? Is that you in there"? He then smiles to show that he is only ribbing his new friend.
He makes ready for any response from the others, enchanting three small pebbles from his pouch with magical force.
Trevor ignores the reavers, listening to Aterro's words, deeply touched by them.
He frowns at Vrindel, and snaps back: "The Brother is just fine! He is wise and has seen the world."
He then turns back to Aterro and, with a quivering voice, asks the Thorite: "Will you teach me?"
Three humanoids step out from under a rough but well hidden shelter clearly designed to act as a makeshift checkpoint and watch post to intercept travelers on the road. Two dwarves dressed in a similar manner to Vadik and his companions are accompanied by a large trollkin wearing hide armor and carrying two long spears. The dwarves both carry axes and crossbows, which just happen to be pointed directly at Ibrox and FInnigan as they attempt to parley.
"Oh aye, the village is not far. Just straight up the road." Says the dwarf on the right, the same voice from before. He chuckles softly. "But the inn is all filled up and the village ain't acceptin' visitors right now, so you'd be best to turn around and go back to where ever you come from." He says waving his crossbow in a shooing gesture, but as he does so the second dwarf leans in and whispers something in his ear. The first frowns but then nods unhappily after Finnigan gets done talking.
"Vadik is about as unseemly and whiny as they come." He says following a long sigh. "Where and how long ago since you laid eyes on the no-good slacker?" His brow furrows as he considers your weapons, armor, and generally dangerous look. "And how exactly did you end up here after meeting him?"
”It was this way we were headed, had we met them or not. We quarreled over a campsite. He gave me this...” Finnigan says pointing to a black eye, ”and this...” and his fat lip. ”But following our fisticuffs he detained us no further and troubled us not. He kept his word as far as I can tell. There’s more to tell though. I’m afraid a little whinging and slagging off doesn’t make it right what befell him and his two companions. A dark and foul thing was done to them. We witnessed it ourselves. Vrindel here took especial care to inter them in a way fit for dwarves, as best as we know and understand your customs. Our business in Nargenstall is to investigate their killers. Some unclean force is at work. We have no stake in the business between dwarves and men, we only mean to stop a sickness from spreading. We saw horrors south of here, crawling things that make the dead up and walk around mindlessly. It makes me sick to tell of it, honestly! ”
Finnigan sees no reason to keep the truth from them. The party had acted rightly.
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Aterro chuckles at the druid. "By the magic rings Andvarinaut and Draupnir, I am no berserker, primed to bring STEEL to all who invade mine sight. I am able to see that a greater picture exists here. If I promise to decimate the first goblin that looks at me cross-wise, will you be appeased?" He concludes with a hearty clamp of his ham-sized hand on the trollkin's shoulder.
Turning to Trevor he nods, solemnly. "Aye. Aye, I will. The way of The Thunderer is a wise and level-headed path that, though not easy to tread, brings its acolytes the toughness of STEEL in both arm and mind.
He who stands with me shall be my brother."
Ibrox shows both his hands raised in reaction to the loaded crossbows. "As my companions says, we were going to investigate the village for the ritual killers of Vadik and his companions, as well as the infestation of necrotic slugs, too. But, you look like you have it all under control, we can leave..."
Aterro chuckles at the druid. "By the magic rings Andvarinaut and Draupnir, I am no berserker, primed to bring STEEL to all who invade mine sight. I am able to see that a greater picture exists here. If I promise to decimate the first goblin that looks at me cross-wise, will you be appeased?" He concludes with a hearty clamp of his ham-sized hand on the trollkin's shoulder.
Turning to Trevor he nods, solemnly. "Aye. Aye, I will. The way of The Thunderer is a wise and level-headed path that, though not easy to tread, brings its acolytes the toughness of STEEL in both arm and mind.
He who stands with me shall be my brother."
Trevor beams his best smile at Aterro: "I'm a good student."
Then he thinks again, watching the pale sun through the fog, thinking of the rain of past days, and turns to Vrindel and asks: "And you? Will you teach me as well?"
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The young smile that had been growing on Aterro's stony face is quickly murdered by Trevor's last sentence.
"A man can not have two masters," he spits over his shoulder as his teaching are so callously tossed down to equal footing with the...treehugger.
The familiar frown back in place, and again ready for a fight, he tromps up to see what is taking the others so long with the dwarf.
The two dwarves listen intently to Finnigan's tale and the gnome's added comments. The first's eye grow wide and surprised at the mention of Vadik's death, but there's a further hint of fear and discomfort at the mention of undead creatures roaming the area. The second, quiet dwarf, seems less fazed by the story, his face barely registering any emotion at all beneath the bushy beard and scraggly hair that covers most of his weather beaten features. Eventually he puts a hand on the others arm and again leans in to whisper something for several seconds while the big, hulking trollkin simply stands there working his teeth with his tongue and staring at Ibrox like he was a the next entry on the day's smorgasbord menu.
Nodding at whatever thoughts his companion shared, the first dwarf clears his throat and wipes the moisture accumulating from the fog away from his brow. "Ahem...well, that is quite a tale. And if true...rather upsetting news about Vadik." He says and then pauses to think before going on. "But I can tell you for certain there ain't any undead slugs or other such creatures haunting the village of...what t'was it you called it...Nargenthal?" His eyes flick back and forth, toward the surrounding fog and forest as he waves toward the other dwarf. "But Mal here seems to think the chief, or maybe old Wormwood would wanna here your tale." At the mention of Wormwood, the trollkin grunts and nods it's own agreement which seems to startle the dwarf for a moment but then he quickly recovers and continues. "Uh...yes...anyway, especially this story about what happened to Vadik. He'll be keen to learn that for certain." He pauses and looks at Finnigan and the rest of the group. "So it looks like we'll be going with you the rest of the way."
"Excellent, Mal!" Ibrox reacts in a genuinely cheerful expression. "Lead on. We will follow you."
They are very friendly indeed!
Then, the Niemheim gnome turns to the rest of companions and says, "These welcoming dwarves and trollkin have agreed to escort us to the village. Their chief and Wormwood want to hear about what happened to their crew-mates and the necrotic slugs."
”We’ll be in good hands with an escort! Finally, things are looking up for us...”
Aterro chuckles at the druid. "By the magic rings Andvarinaut and Draupnir, I am no berserker, primed to bring STEEL to all who invade mine sight. I am able to see that a greater picture exists here. If I promise to decimate the first goblin that looks at me cross-wise, will you be appeased?" He concludes with a hearty clamp of his ham-sized hand on the trollkin's shoulder.
Turning to Trevor he nods, solemnly. "Aye. Aye, I will. The way of The Thunderer is a wise and level-headed path that, though not easy to tread, brings its acolytes the toughness of STEEL in both arm and mind.
He who stands with me shall be my brother."
Trevor beams his best smile at Aterro: "I'm a good student."
Then he thinks again, watching the pale sun through the fog, thinking of the rain of past days, and turns to Vrindel and asks: "And you? Will you teach me as well?"
"It is not me who would be doing the teaching, but the world and all the spirits that inhabit it... I would however be happy to help guide you on your journey to enlightenment".
WIS (Insight)
Vrindel hesitates for a moment, but then shrugs and joins the others in their plan.
"I guess there is strength in numbers should a threat present itself. Lead on".
Trevor doesn't pay attention to Aterro's change of mood, nor to what the reavers say. He beams at Vrindel and follows the others, trying to learn from the world and the spirits. Eventually, his attention is redirected to his feet, and what they are trying to teach him...
"Is it far still?" he asks, though he regrets it right after, thinking that Aterro would not approve such a show of weakness.
"Oh...it's not too far." The dwarf says in reply to Trevor's question. "Nothing a big strapping lad like yourself can't manage I'm certain." He adds with a sly looking grin.
With your willing acceptance of their escort, the dwarves and trollkin gather a few things and then start walking you north toward the village. Zove manages to disappear into the fog unnoticed by the reavers and manages to stay out of sight.
The fog slowly lifts as you journey north and west for an hour or maybe a little longer. The road returns to the coast line and the forest thins considerably as the trees are replaced with stumps and other signs of harvesting. The plume of smoke still rises to the north, visible now that the fog has cleared out. The thin wisps of gray and black are only a short distance away, likely in the next valley over.
You pass another trail that makes a winding, switchbacked path up to the summit of a large hill that overlooks the surrounding area. It is difficult to tell from your vantage point, but there looks to be a set of ruins near the top. An old watchtower or other minor fort of some kind.
Making their way up that trail about a half mile away are a string of a dozen or so laborers, mostly women, tied together and escorted by three more trollkin and a single dwarf. Spotting the group, the more talkative of your escorts gives a rough laugh and nudges Mal the Quiet in the shoulder.
"Looks like Oderic still hasn't found anything. I told him it would be slow going with only the sorry rabble we've gathered so far." Mal hisses and shakes his head with a quick nod back toward yourselves and the other dwarf duly chastised grows quiet again. The trollkin, ignoring the two dwarves, simply raises a meaty hand at the other group and waves it a few times. Moments later one of the trollkin on the other trail responds with his own wave just as the distant, feint crack of a whip wielded by one of the other overseers breaks the midday air.
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Aterro marched on in ever-growing ill temper. Instead of getting simpler (as killing evil ones usually did) the situation continued to deteriorate or grow more complicated.
He had settled down into a contemplative low-simmer when one of the dwarves grows talkative and mumbles some nonsensical words about the upcoming...what can only be a prison-gang.
"Eh what?" he calls out, quickening his march to bring him with conversational distance of Mal and his friend. "What mean you there? And what...ah...what do you mean 'with the rabble we've gathered'? Are you speaking of those laborers? Are they...are they some criminals you are allowing to work off their debt to society through honest toil?
But harken, by found, what are you looking for? Surely those are not miners...I do not see any picks or shovels amongst them.
What was their crime?" he asks, not willing to let the matter drop.
Trevor grows uneasy at the sight of the prisonners-who-look-more-like-laborers-than-criminals. Aterro voices his concerns and he grows quiet, but ready, his eyes locked on the Dwarves, who will likely be the early ones going for a fight, as the Trollkin looks like the slower one.
Following Aterro's questions, the big trollkin stops and mutters heavily under his breath about dwarves being fools with big mouths. Seeing the obviously annoyed trollkin looking at him, the talkative dwarf simply clamps his jaw shut while the one only known as Mal watches with an intense level of curiosity as the trollkin turns to Aterro, one hand griping the haft of the large steel-tipped spear that doubles as a walking staff.
"No. They ain't criminals except born to the crime of being too poor, weak, and all alone up here on this patch of ground. A patch of ground we reavers took a liking to and decided to stay a bit." He says with a look of disbelief that anyone would actually be surprised by this simple fact. "As for what they are doing up there, well that's none of your concern. It's where their new owner wants them and what he wants done, so that's where they go and what they do."
"If you've trouble with that, then I suppose we should work it all out now. Or you can just come along like good little sheep and see if the chief has any use for you or your tales of spooks and missing, loud mouthed dwarves."
The spear shifts slightly in his grip, clearly now ready to strike or defend should the trollkin see any threat emerge. The two dwarves, follow the trollkin's lead, clearly submitting to his leadership as they grip their weapons and suddenly look grim and determined.
Trevor shrinks as the Trollkin grows threatening. He wonders how long it will take before they try to put them in chains for whatever it is they're doing here.
He shifts his position, ever so slightly, to get behind Aterro.
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"Owners..." Aterro breathes, the word saying all the needs to be said.
He never sheathes his hammer. Such would be like a LifeCleric putting their holy symbol in their pocket. Now he moves from both fists being in a double-over grip, for walking, subtly moving to over-under--better for swinging.
"And this is how all are treated in your...realm?" he asks, one foot carefully moving to a slow tactical-walk in a circle, making sure his back isn't vulnerable.
"Hence, one might say, for example, that all I hoped for came to pass. You liberated Krakovia, and all the undead slain, but, this, before us, would be how you take care of all the citizens you liberate?
...
And you say this is right because they are not stronger than you
currently."
His hands slowly move into a Mountain-Falling grip, ready for a quick shift to bring maximum weight.
A frown furrows Vrindel's brow as the situation begins to degrade. He knows that it is the way of the world for the weak to be ruled by the strong, but has also spent enough time in civilization to realize that it is not the same way here. It is really not his business what the Reavers do, but it is his business how his friends are treated.
He stands ready to act however his companions see fit... and has their back.
He turns to the other Trollkin. "We are far from sheep unless your Reaver sheep have teeth. Watch how you speak".
Seeing the slaves toiling, the reality of the situation sinks in. Clever Zove, for keeping out of sight. Now Finnigan wants these reavers toppled, but how many more atop the hill will add to their numbers if the shaky marching truce falls apart here? Three more trollkin and a dwarf?
”Come, lads, don’t trouble our hosts for their way of life. It’s like I always say, freedom is over-rated. Maybe Krakova was never meant to be free. It’s just fate, no one can change fate! Let’s go on peaceably to meet the chief, and leave these workers to their task, or my name ain’t Sober Finn!”
Finnigan hopes his companions will know he couldn’t possibly mean those things.
”I have nothing but cordial greetings for our escorts, the chief, and even those work supervisors up on the hill. If the time comes to make their acquaintance I’ll hail them with the same warm greeting I gave to Vadik, if you recall. So let’s march on a bit in peace.”
Finnigan speaks loud enough for Zove to hopefully hear, and hopes someone can pick up his plan which is to fight the reavers in small groups rather than all together.
"Aye, the strong rule over the weak. It is the way of things in the north. Around the world really." The trollkin says with a wide grin. "Look to your own companions." He says pointing the tip of his big spear at Trevor and Finnigan. "Clearly the boy is too weak to take the others boots, or perhaps the one with the black eye and swollen lip managed to take them from the boy." He waves his free hand dismissively. "It don't really matter which, except one has footwear, the other sore feet."
The talkative dwarf tries to stifle a choking cough when Aterro mentions Krakova and its new undead overlords. "We ain't interested in fighting the undead hoards." He says roughly. "Why fight a pack of snow wolves for your next meal when there are plenty of tender rabbits just waiting to be plucked from these open shores?" He adds shaking his head. "Besides, it's not us that wants to have whatever is up there dug up, it's that doctor fellow, so why not listen to your friend there and accept things as they are and let's get moving."
The banter continues for a few more minutes until the other group of reavers and their prisoners momentarily disappears around the slope leaving only yourselves, the few scattered trees, and the curling wisps of smoke coming from the approaching valley.
The Trollkin's words send Trevor on a spin. He barely hears what is said afterwards, well he hears, but it takes a bit of time for him to process it.
"Socks!? Boots!? You think I wear no boots because- Because some oppressor took them!? FINN EVEN!?!? Mister, you understand not a thing. I CHOOSE not to wear boots, to toil and suffer, and not ask MY FRIEND FINN, other any other friend, to give me solace, because I seek REDEMPTION. Because I believe in something greater and I would jump off a cliff for the right cause! I'm no slave. I'm no victim! I am the Lord Khors' sword in this realm and I will not stand for-"
Then Trevor finally processes what was said afterwards, as he realizes he is standing right in the face of the Trollkin: "Hey wait! Did you say a doctor hired you for some digging?! We need to get there! Oh, by the way, what size do you wear?" he asks the Trollkin.
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Warring emotions surge through the WarCleric and his knuckles whiten as he works the haft of his weapon. Though every inch of him demands the lives of these defilers, they have given him so valuable a mission as to dwarf all others.
'The royal family needs to know this! They have been lead into a trap!' he thinks, at last his fears about the reaver 'allies' having been confirmed.
His moment of thought covered by the...predictable unpredictability of Trevor, he at last arrives at a decision.
Untrusting of his tongue, he shrugs, and makes ready to continue.
Vrindel keeps an wary eye on his impulsive companions and is pleasantly surprised they are not in a combat way over their heads.
It seems we are beginning to mesh as a team, and learn to rely on one another... good...good...goood.
He looks out to see if he can spot his missing group member.
Casual look for Zove's presence.
That one is so unpredictable. I wonder if she still lurks.
The dwarf that has been your guide so far takes a step back at Trevor's obvious anger and hostility. Ready to give in to the boy's demands he looks down at his boots. "About an eleven, wide. But these corrective soles bug me a little." He mutters before Mal walks over shaking his head as he slaps his cowed companion in the shoulder and gives him a shove in the direction of the village. The quiet dwarf then points the rest of the party in the same direction, gesturing for you all to continue.
The big trollkin simply stares at the Trevor for a few seconds. His eyes evaluating the young human's words and attitude. After a few tense moments, he steps back lets out a big laugh. "Ahahahah!" The trollkins deep, belly laugh rumbles through the air for several seconds before he finally regains his composure. "Hahaheh.....Ahem...Peace then mighty Footsore Sword of Khors. Perhaps one day we will see who is the stronger, your Khors or Jormungandr, who gave the entire world life. But for now, there is no need to jump off that mighty cliff. At least not until we see what the chief has to say."
He glances back up toward the top of the nearby hill. "As for that cadaverous doctor, you'll likely see him soon enough, but that's for others to decide." He then follows Mal's example and gestures everyone on down the trail taking a position similar to that of a guard rather than companion.
Ibrox watches the conversation wondering when the melee would start. He was amazed that Attero had contained his Glorious Combat for this long. And Vrindel and now Trevor sounded like they were spoiling for a fight.
When their escort stopped, the cheerful gnome stopped, too. "What's changed? We're following you. How are we supposed to follow you while you are behind us?" He asks genuinely.
Trevor is taken aback and turns to the others and asks: "Wait. What about the prisonners?"
Vrindel keeps walking along, but at the same time stays alert for possible escape or strategic defense areas. He also tries to plot out a possible retreat strategy if things go south.
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Trevor walks beside Aterro and asks: ”Aren’t they the country?”
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Aterro scowls at the paladin for missing so obvious a point of logic. "No man died in Thor's service that died in vain." he begins, setting the theme. "Would you cut your throat to save your hand? Or sever your head to rescue a foot?
Would you sacrifice a company of elite DeathDealers to save an acolyte that threw down his weapon in the face of the enemy? Or send your reserve of horse into a meat grinder to secure the cowardly retreat of a squad of militia that are somehow running the wrong way?
No.
There is a larger picture here.
Remember, we would not be here if the country were not in chaos. The undead rule everything South of here, and we are in territory the Royal Family -thinks- is still held by loyal forces. MOST believe that they will ally with the reavers, and then bring their whole forces to bear on the undead.
We have knowledge that they need. If they do not know what we know, the WHOLE OF THE COUNTRY MIGHT FALL TO THE REAVERS.
However, once those that have power to command great bodies of troops know that the reavers need to be dealt with, plans can be made with that goal in mind.
The most problems -can- be solved with a hammer...
...the acme of skill is to know when to fight, and when not to."
The banter continues as our intrepid heroes are escorted further along the road toward the village of Nargenthal. With the fog lifted, the day has turned sunny and pleasant, with only a slight breeze blowing in from the west. An osprey circles overhead, its high pitched cry sounding as it cruises the shallows for a midday meal.
Following the general contour of the land the road starts to turn northeast as you come up over a short ridgeline. The view from the road is picturesque with a broad valley opening up into a sheltered bay. Another small river runs down the middle of the valley, similar to the previous village. Unlike the previous village, Nargenthal sits right near the shore, just far enough back to avoid the highest tides, and they've dug a moat around village using the constant flow of the river as additional protection.
A wooden palisade surrounds three quarters of the small hamlet, while an earth and stone berm offer a little more protection along the shoreline. A short drawbridge is lowered across the moat on the south side of the palisade. Several fishing boats are tied up on shore, by they are dwarfed by the single reaver longship that sits tied to the only dock. The snarling wolf's head prow, bobbing up and down slightly in the gentle waters of the bay.
Looking down inside the palisade there are two large buildings that stand among several smaller structures. One is a large barn, used to house the villages livestock, feed, and other stores through the long winters. The other must be the Frost Maiden Inn, its stone walls and second floor easily standing out from the other wooden buildings of the village. Smoke curls up lazily from the inn's chimney a sure sign that at least the kitchens are still functioning. Parked outside of the inn is a large carriage decked out in red, black, and gold colors. A cloth awning of red and black cloth stretches out from the side to create an additional shaded and covered area near the wagon.
Another column of smoke rises from the smoldering ruins of a longhouse and other smaller building on the eastern side of the village. Just a short distance away stands a small watchtower anchoring the palisade where it comes to a point at the joining of the moat and river. A half dozen smaller long houses remain standing inside the walls.
Outside of the palisade to the east is a large stone fenced field where several sheep graze on the fresh grass. To the south and west is a marshy area dotted with the gruesome remains of an earlier battle. Dozens of ravens continue to feast on the scattered bodies, their harsh calls occasionally heard it all the way up the slope to where you stand.
A pair a dwarves man the top of the watchtower, while a trollkin and another dwarf stand near the gate at the base of the drawbridge. Two other dwarves enter the barn and a short while later leave escorting two village women back toward the inn. Both put up little in the way of a struggle and seem to have given in to whatever fate awaits them inside the Frost Maiden.
"Well, there it is friends. Mighty Nargenthal." The trollkin says with a generous dose of irony and a short laugh. "It's not much, but we're calling it home for now." He squints down at the scene below in the valley and nods thoughtfully. "It even looks like you might be in luck. The doctor appears to still be here, or at least his cart is."
Finnigan has a sinking feeling about all of this. As he marched he had misjudge the proximity of his reaver escorts, thinking them within earshot. He had resorted to cryptic coded language and sly hints which were lost upon his companions, none of whom seemed to catch wind of his plot to separate the reavers into smaller groups but to engage them and free the slaves. The further they marched leaving those laborers to their fate, the worse he began to feel.
When he heard Aterro and Trevor talking openly about hostility towards the reavers, he realized his folly, but kept quiet in embarrassment until Nargenthal was in view.
”That’s small for a slaver ship. Shouldn’t hold a crew of more than thirty strong altogether.”
Vrindel consults quietly with his companions, moving about as needed to keep the conversations private.
"Remember these Reavers have no quarrel with us at the moment, and we might be a thornier prize than they're willing to take, so calm is the course of action until we have more information".
"Aye, good plan, Vrindel." The smiling gnome replies.
While Ibrox has plenty of experience entering the presence of creatures who could destroy him painfully and slowly, it does not get easier. His eyes track to potential escape routes.
