”Brilliant outcome, mate, honestly! Absolutely brilliant notion, I’ll drink to that!”. Finnigan can not contain his elation at the prospect of a drink. ”I’ll gladly pledge! Let any oathbreaker invite the curse of the serpent indeed!”
Finnigan insinuates himself into the line at the bar in such a way that he intercepts a mug that had been intended for a dwarf. He does so with a smile and an air of eagerness to make merriment, so that he doesn’t appear to be suspicious of what he is being served.
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Aterro's heart was a maelstrom of confusion as to why GLORIOUS COMBAT was not yet joined. His head kept screaming that the tactics of the situation were sub-optimal, while his heart continued to pound martial rhythms, caring only for red, hot blood to spill, and, perhaps, golden-haired Valkyries to rush him to the land where mead is ever-flowing.
Eventually his head stated that he would not only be throwing away his own life, but also those around him, and such a choice can not be made, all the more that they would not have Valhalla to look forward to.
Allowing himself to let these slavers and murderers to live was all the good-will he could muster. When a suggestion of resting beneath their roof was offered and suggested, his face purpled with the exertion to not scream out that they would all be dead by the next sunrise.
At the insistence of drink, he could control himself no longer.
When handed a cup and with all eyes expectant, Aterro's steel-garbed hand clenches with all the power a WarCleric of the Thunderer could muster. Many foes clad in hatred and STEEL had fallen to such a fist, and the cheap clay mug would not be the one to withstand such power now.
"Oops," he breathes, ale and clay shards falling to the ground. "I fear the longhouses, too, might not provide adequate rest. I go to sleep beneath the stars," he says, turning and stomping to the door. "Perhaps I'll hunt some frog," he concludes, subtly indicating his intentions to find the wizard.
There was no way he could keep the peace if he stayed here a moment more.
"Peace as we share the same roof and ale for this day".
Vindrel raises his tankard in toast. His heart jumps into his throat as the fiery Aterro stomps off.
Hopefully he'll at least find Zove so they can fend off the night.
He starts to call after his stalwart companion... but decides that for the good of all he should stay and follow the plan, knowing that Aterro would be there for the coming confrontation.
Many sets of eyes follow Aterro's departing figure when the war cleric brusquely stomps out of the common room and back into the light of early evening. The shaman wears an expression of amusement while many of the dwarves simply glare at the human's departing frame. Gronar, spits to the side and starts to follow but once again the hand of the shaman reaches out and prevents the chief from fulfilling his obviously hostile intentions. The dwarf shrugs off the hand, but doesn't pursue Aterro further, instead he simply drains the rest of the contents of his mug and does his own disappearing act by stomping upstairs.
With Gronar's departure, the rest of the room seems to let out a collective held breath and the mood lightens somewhat. More drink is poured and the corvee begins to strum a light and jaunty tune on his lute. A deck of cards appears and soon enough the sound of shuffling and coins dropping is heard as a game begins that includes Bronar, Mal, and three of the other dwarves.
Ornfisk drops down next to the shaman, sipping from a large mug while his eyes drift around the room, lingering on each of the newcomers.
"I guess if'n you were a threat, them others would'na be frolickin'." He says waving you on through.
About halfway back up the road you manage to spot a set of footprints that match those of your shadow fey companion near some tall shrubs and scrub pines. After a little careful searching, you discover a few more prints leading off into the marshy scrub land not far from where the village defenders fell in battle.
You continue to watch the big cleric of Thor march up the road and eventually stop where you left the road to circle around to your current 'nest.'
With Aterro gone, Trevor relaxes a bit. He got that, at least for now, Reavers were uneasy allies, even though Aterro kept changing his mind about that every ten minutes or so.
The cards appearing make him smile, though he would rather play dice: "Can I join in?" he asks feebly.
Finnigan upends his tankard of ale, and makes his way around the room excitedly. He is visibly exultant and admiring the musician and the game of luck alike, genuinely intrigued by both.
When an opportune moment presents itself he whispers to Trevor, ”I won’t break my oath here tonight... but I never promised anything about that doctor or those taskmasters up on the hill...”
The cheerful gnome breathes a sigh of relief with tension broken. He sidles up to the bar and orders a small beer, pun-intended. "So, that was fun. Where do the Mossback Reavers call home? I thought you reavers were all dwarves. How long have you been mixed with trollkin? Is Thor your divine patron? Tell me about yourselves."
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Aterro's visage is as dark as his mood, and inside he years, he begs for the watchmen to give him some excuse, however paltry, to split his skull and get a good brawl going.
Instead, he takes some small joy that he can muster a dark enough look to make enough that hardened killer leave him be.
He nods as he sees the spoor of his target, and the out-of-place crow calling only confirms it. He turns and marches into the foliage.
"You need not the subterfuge," he rumbles in reply, still not able to see the wizardess but certain she's near. "I saw this was the best spot for an ambush, and I took track-reading as an elective my second year.
Heh, the stewpot, far from it. Vrindel bargained a peaceful night in the town--apparently trollkin are some kind of respected race amongst reaver dogs. The old crone that leads them assumed we WE were -his- slaves, and was so vulgar as to give me leave to speak, as if I would ask permission!"
He takes a few breathes, calming himself.
"They have a pact with them to sleep there tonight, but Thor moves me to slay all the dwarves--no allies these, but vultures to feed upon the Krakovian corpse. I rue RUE! that I did not move to kill each one I have seen before now, but, alas, 'tis better late than never....
I am here as the battle-heart rose in me, and I could not keep the peace that was so passionately fought for. If I have your leave, I'll sleep here now, and in the morning we can devise some plan to put this place under siege--perhaps stalking and killing whatever small parties venture out, until the few inside are weak enough to attack directly.
I can only hope the others...will see the sunrise.
I trust the reavers not."
Finnigan upends his tankard of ale, and makes his way around the room excitedly. He is visibly exultant and admiring the musician and the game of luck alike, genuinely intrigued by both.
When an opportune moment presents itself he whispers to Trevor, ”I won’t break my oath here tonight... but I never promised anything about that doctor or those taskmasters up on the hill...”
As Finnigan comes behind him while he waits to see if he'll be offered a seat to play, Trevor nods to the ranger adding: "Yes, yes. Those animated people we've dealt with, you think he might be responsible? Remember that chest? I bet he has one for here..."
"So, fellows? Closed game?"
Mal kicks a chair out toward Trevor after the young knight asks to join the card game. Coins drop into the center of the table, all silver, all from a variety of different nations. A Silver Zobecker, stamped with the head of some past mayor; a Silver Oak, coin of Dornig, stamped with a tree on one side, the empresses profile on the other; a Silver Serpent from the Mharoti Empire, its coiled dragons glittering in the light, even a pre-invasion Krakovian Mermaid with King Eynryk's profile opposite of a circled mermaid.
As Trevor sits down, expectant eyes glance from table to the boy and back again before Bronar speaks up. "It's a silver to ante, table stakes. So lets see your coin boy." He says eyeing Trevor and his bare feet with scepticism.
While Trevor and Finnigan settle into the game, Ibrox tries mingling at the bar. His questions met with a mix of indifference, hostility, or general discomfort at his presence. But eventually his good cheer and affiable nature eventually shine through and the dwarf serving drinks answers.
"`Tis true most dwarves an' kin don't mix. In fact,they're more likely to tear each others throats out than share a drink together." He says with a chuckle that's accompanied by nods from his fellows. " But we mossbacks are from the backwoods of Trollhiem an' sometimes life there brings folk together in strange ways. The Serpent blessed us when ole Blackwood came along and saved the chief from a pack o' giants. Soon enough, they come to an agreement an ever since we've been workin' together. Raidin', tradin', slavin' and otherwise makin' our way along these ripe for pluckin' southern coasts." He shrugs while he pours another mug and slides it down the bar to a waiting hand. Then with a nod toward the shaman he starts talking again. "She's looking for somethin'. Don't know what, but always goes searchin' 'ere and there when we land in some new spot. Reckon it's some relic or callin' from the Serpent itself, so who's t' argue."
Just then there's a brief woman's scream from upstairs followed by a crash and sound of heavy boots stomping across the floor. Another scream, this time cut short and another loud thud before all quiets once again. In the common room everyone simply ignores the commotion with one dwarf at the game table simply chuckling.
"Chief must be workin' out his frustrations on them girls. He says glibbly. "Hope he doesn't do too much damage. I was looking forward to a go after my shift in the tower tonight."
"Bah! What are you worried about, Two-left?" Pipes up Bronar. "You'll go for anything what's got a beating heart. There're plenty o' more t' choose from. He adds with a laugh thats soon joined by the others as he deals the cards.
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Aterro follows Zove's voice to her hiding cove and nods, agreeing on the worthlessness of slavers.
At her predator grin, Aterro notices it, and his gaze lingers a bit longer than mere noting would prescribe. Within him he feels a stiring, a longing--
but no. There is the mission to get to.
Many deaths.
"Apologies, if I had disturbed your slumber. I will take first watch or second, I care not."
::By the way, I can hear you if you want to reply telepathically.::
While playing cards, Finnigan slides Trevor a note.
”Mate,
I have half a mind to take a room with the girls and sneak them out the window. Thoughts?”
Snicker blinks rapidly as his body slowly starts to recover from the mind numbing pain induced by the sudden and unwelcome transformation. His limbs still tingling and vibrating from the restructuring of his material being he tries to lash out at his shadow fey mistress but loses his balance and ends up merely nudging her instead. Of course, the clumsy effort is met with light laughter and a condescending pat on the head which merely infuriates the frog-hawk even more.
Barely listening to Zove as she passes along her tedious instructions, he instead concentrates on becoming familiar with his new form. Flapping wings, gripping with his claws. (Which elicits a pleasing yelp from his mistress as she tries to tie some tube to said claw.)
Blah...blah...blah...south...blah blah blah...kobold. Yes, whatever you inept witch....blah...blah...warning...blah blah blah...I'd like to see you shackled." He thinks, simply waiting for the moment when he can leap free, or at least leap to a limited, temporary sense of freedom.
She finishes her chatter and suddenly Snicker is off. His wings pump furiously as he tries to escape the confines of the trees. He instead crashes into a particularly large branch, barely avoiding a critical injury. Cursing his mistress more, for the confines of the trees, he eventually hops to the edge and into the clearing where he has enough room to leap, flap...flap harder...okay...flap a lot harder....and he's up.
Gliding over the tree tops, momentum and the air currents starting to do the trick, carrying him further into the air and it truly is a freeing experience. He circles up, let's out a screeching cry as his eyes take in so much below. The village and its dark inhabitants, a rabbit grazing on spring grasses, another hawk circling not far away....Hey she's got quite the attractive plumage. He thinks starting in the other birds direction, his orders from Zove still in the back of his mind, never truly departing. But with her immediate influence gone, he could enjoy a bit of time on his own. "After all she never said when he needed to deliver her silly note."
To the others at the table, Trevor slides as he slips his silver. He points at one from the Mahroti Empire and says: "I bet all these coins have their stories, right? What about this one?"
To Finn's note, he just makes eye contact with the ranger and nods.
Trevor tries his hand at misleading the others. This was as fun as he remembered.
Then, as the game unfolds, and he asks about stories from each region, and only once he feels everyone is sufficiently inebriated, he point to the Krakovian coin: "What about this one? Any stories for that coin?"
Vrindel cringes at the sounds from above...
Live to fight another day... he keeps repeating in his mind.
” I’m a bit weary for now. I believe I’ll retire to the longhouse you’ve set aside for our use.
Vrindel will try to see what help the village might provide as he takes the long way to their quarters foe the evening.
Ibrox excuses himself from the bar and follows Vrindel.
"Trevor, Fin. I'll be back after I check out our quarters."
He tries to lock on to Trevor & Fin in case he can reach their minds from outside the inn.
Finnigan taps the dwarf whom had said he fancied a go with th pie girls upstairs.
”Oi there mate! You don’t suppose I could spend some of my winnings? I fancy some companionship meself!”
Trevor's curiosity over the various coins being tossed around in the card game gives Bronar an opening to retell numerous tales of exploits along the northern coasts. Some elicit groans and friendly curses from his fellows while others bring boisterous laughter and further drinking.
"That stash o' Serpents came from a pompous southern trader who we found 'alf frozen near Vidim last season, ain't that right Mal?" Bronar says with affirming nods from the quiet dwarf. "Folk say those dragonborn southerners are all tough as nails, but he t'was jus' some skinny fool who'd lost his guards an' crew an' ended up stuck in t' wild. That's where we found 'im. Burnin' a signal fire bright as day along t' coast. Brought us right to 'im like a moth t' flame it did." He says with a bright chuckle and shake of the head. "First thing he did was try to order us around like he we're king of t' bloody world. Of course, second thing he did was beg for his life. Third was squeal and squeak when we sold 'im t' ole Moptop back in Trollheim."
Finnigan wins another pot bringing forth more curses and calls for drinks as Mal sets forth dealing the cards out again. The silver Mermaid drops on the table again drawing the attention of Trevor who asks about how the Krakovan coin ended up in the reaver's purse.
"That's easy enough." Bronar says with a shrug. "We got that fresh from t' good doctor. Part 'o me share of t' fee we we're paid. Don't know where 'ee got it from. Most like some sap buyin' a bottle o' ointment or needin' a love potion." He nudges Two-left giving the other dwarf a grin. "Maybe you should see if t' doc 'as somet'in to make t' girls like you better." He says with a laugh as he draws in the hands winnings and is answered by a familiar gesture from Two-Left.
As the game continues, Vrindel and Ibrox excuse themselves to find a suitable, unoccupied place to bed down. Leaving the confines of the inn behind, the two step out into the evening air, filled with the fish and salt smell of the sea. Guards nod in greeting and point them toward one of the shabbier looking long houses.
As they walk through the small village, there is a noticeable absence of actual villagers. The only ones in Nargenthal appear to be the reaver raiders.
Outside the village, evening turns to night and all remains quiet for Zove and Aterro once the shadow fae completes her various incantations.
The moon rises a thick crescent that offers a little light over the marsh and fields below the copse of trees where the two continue to keep an eye over the village. There is little to see, Vrindel and Ibrox eventually emerge from the inn and make their way to one of the longhouses.
Guards stand watch, but generally take the duty with mild seriousness as the two and the gate chatter back and forth while those on the tower appear to spend most of their time throwing dice.
Back in the inn, the card game starts to wind down. Ornfisk and the shaman have gone upstairs to their rooms, as have all of the other reavers but those involved in the game.
Finnigan, Bronar and Trevor end up the winners of the evening. A total of eleven silver coins sit stacked in front of Finnigan, while Trevor's total is nine.
When Finnigan asks about the women, Bronar shakes his head. "Those two will be all used up t'night." He says disappointedly. "Gronar is always...a bit rough on 'is women. You're better off grabbin' one of t' others." He looks thoughtful for a second or two then continues. "There're a couple o' decent lookin' ones still in the barn if'n I recall. But bein' as how you ain't a Mossback, it'll cost." He says that last with a glance toward the coins sitting in front of the scout.
"Sure. I'll pay for girls. How much you want? Oh, you sell boots too?!" replies Trevor, sullen that the good doctor is not around, as he seems the one they need to speak with.
”Used up is alright with me mate! I like the way those two scream! If he’s through with them, send them and the ones from the barn! The more the merrier!”
Munching down one last piece of salty spice jerky, Zove was unsure how to wake the slumbering war priest for his watch. Even in rest his face muscles were cinched tightly in determination, as if his dreams were absurd and lacking in combat. ::...this human...how the hell do I...:: She nudged him softly with her boot-tip in the ribs "Uh...hello? ...activate?" Zove tried once more in a commanding tone "Activate!"
She wanted sleep but was eager for the retribution to begin.
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Vrindel hesitates for just a second, then indiscreetly whispers to Ibrox.
[smaller"Did you hear that? I hear sobbing and low discussion from the barn. Perhaps someone is being held in there. I don't think we can do anything for the girls in the big house right now, but perhaps we can help liberate whoever is in the barn". [/smaller]
Vrindel tries to case the area, seeing if there is an alternate entrance, and checking out the location of any guards.
Perception
He then stops for a moment and stretches.
Telepathically, Ibrox replies, ::Um. No, I didn't hear anything. That big barn looks like a comfortable place to bed down. It's not like we have an escort.::
He looks around before heading into the big barn like he was supposed to be there.
Finnigan's comments elicit multiple frowns and shaking heads around the table. Mal the Quiet leans in to Bronar and whispers something to the outspoken dwarf.
"Ahem...yes...well, I realize many humans 'ave...unusual tastes...but I'm afraid we don't wish t' see these woman too damaged afore we get back t' Trollheim." Bronar says with a bit of reproach in his voice. "Truth is, I wish t' chief didn't treat 'em so poor, but nothin' I can do 'bout that. I can limit t' damage though, an' that means you'll need t' get one o' t' others."
The others seem to nod along in agreement with Bronar, while Two-Left turns to Trevor with a gap-toothed grin. The dwarf leans down to gage Trevor's boot size and nods quickly. "I've got a couple o' pairs tha' might fit those stompers o' yours." He says brightened by the opportunity to recover some of the coins he just lost during the game.
He disappears into a back part of the inn for a few minutes and returns carrying two pairs of very used, but still functional boots. One pair seems to be caked in a mix of old blood and mud, while the other stink of manure and long unwashed feet. He holds the two pair out to Trevor.
"One of these ought t' fit those big feet. Need a little cleanin' up, but the former owners got no use fer 'em." He says dangling the boots before the knight and his dirty bare and blistered feet. His eyes flick back and forth between Trevor's feet and his coins. "That'll be ten silver fer a pair." He says greedily.
Vrindel and Ibrox give the barn a quick look and notice nothing unusual of of interest. But their obvious curiosity grabs the attention of one of the gate guards, who quickly hollers to the two reaver guests as Ibrox starts to open the door.
"Oy there! You two should clear outta there! Tis' off limits to you!" He says walking over with his companion. "No outsiders allowed in there, unless you're plannin' to buy."
Despite Zove's best efforts, the war cleric continues to rattle her previously quiet surroundings with his thunderous snoring. It seems he is truly devoted to Thor in all things. As she continues to watch from her position, she sees the two guards leave their post to confront Vrindel and Ibrox near the barn's side door.
It is also about that same moment, that she feels another disturbance along the ley lines and the energy surrounding the mysterious tome given to her by the ambassador. Her skin tingles slightly, her head aches, and her hair drifts like it might during a particularly bad electrical storm.
Although not as potent and powerful as the night of the grim ritual, something is certainly happening that is strong enough for the shadow fey to feel some of the residual effects. Whatever it is, it isn't coming from the village, or from the immediate area. It takes a few moments of concentration and focus but it appears to be coming from the south and east, the direction of the old ruins passed earlier in the day.
Oblivious to the energies flow through the night and Zove's discomfort, Aterro simply continues his stone rattling slumber, content to slay slave trading reapers in his sleep until reality can catch up with his dreams.
Trevor bursts out laughing: "Ten! You’re a funny one, and shrewd in your businessing about. I’d say: I ain’t got the ten, just the nine. And these boots I’ll take, blood and mud and all, if you add a girl to the package. Deal?"
Then he adds: "I had a boss once who kept breaking the goods... A fortune he cost us, until some of us decided to change things a bit..."
"Buy? What're you selling? We've already dealt for shelter tonight." The cheerful gnome turns to the approaching guards with a bargain at hand.
”Say, Mal... Bronar, what do you lads think? What would it cost to have my way with the whole barn for the night? Rather than pick and choose I’d just pay for the lot and get cozy in the barn itself for the evening? What do you say there, Bronar? Mal? Pity about the two screamers upstairs though. They’re nothing but property after all though so I’d say the chief’s well within his rights, mate. Honestly.”
Vrindel begins to circle the barn as Ibrox has their attention... just seeing if there are any entrances or windows other than the main door he is trying to open.
"Honestly I've just got to answer the call of nature. A bit too much ale while in there. You're welcome to join me if you'd like... just steer clear of the splash zone. I'll be back in just a second".
Answering telepathically:: I'm trying to get the lay of the place. I've got a plan.
Deception
"Why slaves of course." The first guard says to Ibrox brightly. "But you should talk to Bronar or Ornfisk if you're really interested. They're in charge of all the merchandise. Without one of them along, you can't go in. Off limits to outsiders." He adds with a shrug. "If you want to look over the merchandise, you'll need one of them to give up lazying about and come out here to walk you through."
When Vrindel starts to walk away toward the corner of the barn, the second guard simply shakes his head and points off toward the dark longhouse. "There's a privy around the side of your longhouse." He says grimly. "No need to go making a puddle one of us might step in later."
Whatever is creating the disturbance seems to be generating or attempting to harness large amounts of power. But its success has been limited at best. There is no focus, no control, that's why you are feeling the effects now and felt them before. Why the tome picks up the resonant thoughts or chaos manifesting through the magic. A mountain could have been raised with the energy created by the blood ritual, instead it was used to create a simple gateway. It's like blasting a mosquito with a fireball. It works, but is wasteful and certainly has no artistic value. Something similar is happening tonight. A great amount of energy, but this time to do what? Last time it entered the shadow road. Was this the return?
Then suddenly the pressure building in the back of your head breaks with a quick POP! And it is gone. You are simply left feeling the corruption in the ley line. Something did use the shadow road, but by again using brute force to break through the veils. And worse, that force again consisted mostly of the dark, cold, chaos of the Void, which most likely left further danger and corruption in its wake.
"Wellllll....I don't know 'bout all o' them." Bronar says carefully. Giving Finnigan a thoughtful look. " I know when t' others come off duty, they'll need to spend a bit o' time relaxin'. If I've sold 'em all off, there'll be trouble for sure." He adds shaking his head slightly while Mal nods in agreement.
"But tell you what. If you throw in t' boys winnings plus another ten silver, I'll let you have all but three for t' night. That's most o' what we got."
At the mention of Trevor's winnings going toward the girls, Two-Left hisses through his teeth and snatches the boots back with a glare toward Bronar and Trevor. "'Ere now! If all them coins is goin' to flesh, I ain't givin' away no boots." He says to both. Then turns back to Trevor. "I'll take nine, but no' a sliver less. You choose a night o' fun, or cold feet for days."
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A rumble like two massive boulders slowly grinding each other to dust answers Zove's latest attempt to rouse the slumbering armored saint. "Mmmfpph. I am now. I was rousting and feasting in the fire-lit halls of Valhalla, roasting dwarves over the spit while throwing used boots at them.
And then I thought I was a robot, and someone kept yelling 'activate' at me. Very odd dreams that Thor sent me this night.
But hark! What moves you? I am now ready, whenever the moment of STEEL comes. Not one moment more will I let pass, should battle be offered, however slightly.
Hast thou seen aught to give us an opportune moment? Or do you just wish your turn in the blankets? Either way, I am now ready."
Aterro retakes his hammer and gives the massive weapon a few quick swipes into the darkness. Satisfied that his muscles retain readiness, he digs out a few strips of hardened jerky from his pouch and listens to Zove recall the night's events.
"Alright. Thanks. So, our longhouse is over there? I'll go ask 'em later." Ibrox continues toward the longhouse.
Telepathically to Vrindel, ::You know I can make you invisible, right? Don't know if that's in your plan, yet.::