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While the nightnis still young and Aterro has polished off only his second trencher of viands he suddenly stands. Getting the attention of Britta he mutters that he shall return and none should think to away with his plate or cup.
He exits the building5 and indeed the village until he is alone.
"Alright, Spear. You have been needling my head the past hour. I could not attend until I was sated. Now that the edge has been taken from my appetite we can see what all the fuss is about."
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Ibrox knocks on the woman's door and is welcomed in as she steps back from the threshold.
"I saw that you lot had returned." She says. "I must admit, after seeing that old stack o' rocks tumble the way it did, I thought I'd never see any of you again."
Taking the gloves from Ibrox she looks them over with a practiced eye. Turning them inside out to check the stitching and workmanship.
"Not bad. Not bad at all." She says slipping one of the gloves onto her hand. "Stitching is a little loose and uneven, but that's some surprisingly soft leather. Doesn't look like cow or deer hide..." She looks at the material a little longer, then shrugs and retrieves the tools.
"A deals a deal." Handing the leatherworking set over to Ibrox. "I hope you get as much use of them as my Wulfgir got out of them. Treat them right and they'll last you a lifetime." She says following the gnome back to the door giving him a friendly wave as he leaves to rejoin those at the inn.
Britta gives Trevor a knowing, motherly smile as she sets a bowl of hardy stew down in front of the young knight.
"Oh...I don't know about saving the whole world. But I certainly know you and your friends sure did save a whole lot of people around here." She says. Her husky voice is sincere and sympathetic. She tries to draw the young man out of his growing melancholy by focusing her own emerald eyes on his.
"Have a little something to eat while you tell me about what happened." Pushing the stew toward Trevor, she chuckles softly and shakes her head causing her long dark pony tail to flit back and forth, swishing against her cooking stained tunic. "It's been a while since I've heard any new tales of adventure around here."
"Ohh! Hello! Hello! Maryanne exclaims rushing up to Vrindel and giving him a big gregarious hug when she spots him feeding the horses. She flushes a bright red upon realizing just how much her mother would disapprove of her unladylike behavior with a relative stranger.
"I...I'm sorry, but we all thought that you might have died when the old castle collapsed." She says stepping back and brushing a stray strand of auburn hair from her nose. Although it's only been a week or so since last seeing her, it seems she's grown even more thin than she was after her release from the reaver's slave chains. "I'm so glad you made it back and with such a beautiful horse." She adds pointing at the Krakovan mare. Her excitement grows even more enthusiastic as she lowers her voice and leans in toward the trollkin.
"I've been practicing those meditations you taught me. Everyday. Or at least most everyday. Planting season is coming up soon and...well....with most of the men gone, there's a lot more work to do. So I haven't had much time, but when I have, I've practiced."
Finding a quiet place away from the sights, sounds, and smells of Nargenthal, Aterro settles down to the ground, his legs crossed and the long spear that once graced the hand of his very own god balanced across his knees. The dark black walnut haft tingles slightly in his hands as he slowly turns it about causing the sharp bronze head to intermittently flash in the lowering sun. The head is a simple, basic design, but each side is decorated with intricate knotwork bear symbols.
Continuing to hold the spear, the warpriest can feel the holy energy of the weapon pushing, testing his own strength, courage, and will against that imbued within spear. Slowly, almost reluctantly the holy warrior receives the acceptance of the spear and the lightning power that runs through it no longer causes any pain or discomfort. Instead it is a warmth and comforting reminder of his sworn fealty and holy duty to Thor.
For a moment he finds himself back in a familiar hall, its stone pillars stretching high above as numerous fires burn. Warriors, both men and women, dance to the music of harps, drums, flute, and lutes while mead and ale flow from massive barrels. All is overseen by one figure sitting at the far end of the hall, upon a raised dais, and a thick wooden chair carved with eagle, bear, and ox totems. For a brief series of heartbeats, the tall warrior sitting at the end of the great hall catches Aterro's eye with his own icy blue gaze. With a salute of his simple wooden mug he nods to the warpriest taking a deep drink. Then released from warrior's gaze, Aterro finds himself back in the clearing, spear across his lap, sun setting in the west while a cool evening sea breeze rustles the spring grasses.
"It's true." The cheerful gnome pads over to the conversation between Britta and Trevor. "That necromancer managed to open a portal to the void causing creatures to start coming through as it grew in size. The power of it damaged the foundations of the keep. Trevor there destroyed the magical source powering the portal, which snapped it closed. Unchecked, the portal would have opened enough to let the Void creatures invade and conquer Midgard."
"What happened to the necromancer's wagon? Anything interesting in it?
Vrindel is at first rigid as a board when Maryanne blesses him with the first real hug that he's ever had in his life. He finally relents and lets a bit or relaxation into his return hug... making sure not to hurt her with his unfamiliar embrace.
"I...I...It's is good to see you are safe as well. I am proud of you for practicing your meditations. Perhaps we can continue the lessons with learning to sense the animals needs".
Vrindel spends the next half hour teaching the girl about how to care and sense the moods and conditions of the local farm animals.
"I'm sure my friends are ready to rest for a bit. If your village would accept my assistance, I'll help with preparations for the planting".
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True to his word Aterro marches back to the inn and resumes his repast with renewed gusto. He is wearing a rare smile and is in high spirits as a guzzles down another tankard and roars full more.
"More ale! Confound how many times must I save the world for a drink around here? Heh...every time I see him it gives me a powerful thirst."
Trevor loses himself in Britta’s eyes. He feels a powerful and uncomfortable tug inside him. Uncertain as to how to behave, he lets ale, a great amount of ale, avoid him to make a choice.
"Am djuss gladd you’rall szafe... Oh and’am szurr the OldMan approvze... Beautiful eyeze... Britta..."
The cheerful gnome rolls his eyes at the would-be hero's inebriation. "Zove, can I look at the rituals in your spellbook? Maybe I can copy them in my book."
(i) illusory scriptR, comprehend languagesR, alarmR, detect magicR, find familiarR, unseen servantR
(ii) shadows brought to lightR
8 levels x 50 gp = 400 gp!
Does Ibrox have 400 gp to spend?
The cheerful gnome picks up the book and gets serious reading and studying. Slowly flipping the pages as he skims the contents. "There are several rituals that I could cast in here. Now, I need to assemble the inks and get to work."
"Oh yes!" Exclaims Maryanne at Vrindel's offer. "I'm sure everyone would welcome any help." Her cheerful face turns a bit worried. "We've just got to have a good season this year. Things are already terribly, terribly tight with nearly all of our stores and stock gone." She sighs heavily. "Mr. Bentknee's goods should tide us through for a while, but if we have a bad season, we'll have to abandon the village for sure."
Yes...yes. We're all safe and sound." Britta says to the inebriated young knight, with a bit of motherly reassurance added into her voice. "But I think it's time for you to get some rest."
With Zove and Ibrox buried in their books and studies and the teenager looking more and more ready to pass out, she calls to one of Bentknee's drovers, Tymothy, to help her get Trevor up to one of the rooms where he can sleep it off. They drop the big teenager on the bed, his heavy body rattling the wooden frame. Britta throws a blanket loosely over his head while Tymothy carefully places a bucket nearby, just in case. Finally she pat's him on the head as she slips out of the room closing the door on his already boisterous snoring.
Hurrying back downstairs at the sound of Aterro's shouted demands for ale, Britta slips a stray strand of hair behind her head and quickly pours a mug for the priest of Thor.
"And who might this be, that gives you such a demanding thirst?" She says sliding the mug to Aterro.
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Aterro chuckles good-naturedly, his new bond with the Spear and the ample drink warming him.
"Ha! Tis the owner of this mighty weapon here. Aye, lass. The stories are true. This here is none other than the very Spear of Thor that was much ballyhooed. Aye 'twas poorly used until we came upon it and liberated it from some doers of evil.
I left to meditate upon it, and it did accept me, and I was granted, as reward, a moment in the feasthall of Valhalla! The Thunderer himself did give me a rewarding look in homage to my deeds.
But hark. Now that I have achieved this what am I to do now? My thoughts turn to this village. How would you say that I could best help? Might I lead a hunting party to bring fresh game? Or do you just need good housing to.keep the snow off?"
Aterro waits for her answer as he drinks deep and ponders his own future.
Britta's eyes go wide for a moment as they glance between the big pike leaning next to the priest and its owner. Then she simply shakes her head slightly adding a small smile. She'd been around a lot of various adventurers in her own time, and she never could figure out the knack of telling when it was a tall tale or the truth. But it was a good tale, and he was offering to help so....
"Aye, well there's plenty to be done." She says stopping to think for a moment, her hand again brushing back the same strand of wayward hair. "There's the spring planting. With few men-folk and even fewer horses or cattle to draw the plows it'll be a job. The smithy needs rebuilding, likely sooner rather than later. But to do that we'll need timber. For all sorts of repairs." She ticks all the things off on her hands. "As you mentioned, with food supplies mostly gone, hunting and fishing will be needed. And those bloody scoundrels slipped away with Halig's boat. I think Fionna was working on getting old Anghus' craft afloat, but she was having trouble. Not to mention, the dock needing some work. At least we've plenty of nets and tackle."
"So...there's plenty to choose from." She says with a heavy sigh and goes back to stir the stew.
Over the coming weeks, Trevor involves himself completely into helping folks doing whatever they need doing, offering the strength of his back to carry things, lift things, dig dirt, plant seeds, etc.
He also, though rarely, discusses Khors when he is asked questions about the symbols he wears. He is reluctant to do so, but stops fighting it when he notices his words seem to help some of the villagers make sense of their lives. Plus it doesn'T help that each day of sun is much more welcomed than a day of heavy rain, or storm. In fact, when a storm breaks and most villagers complain, he beams at Aterro.
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"Hush now, my brothers. You see that yonder deer?"
The trio of young men out stalking with Aterro all nodded. They had eagerly accepted the WarCleric's offer to go along in their hunting party, but they as yet wondered how we could help.
"Aye, Aterro, we see it. 'Tis a fine, large buck. But at this range we none of us could make such a spear cast. We must needs gain closer."
The man rose to approach nearer, but Aterro held him down to wait.
"Pause a moment, man. If we go closer, it might hear us. There are more than one way to kill a thing."
Aterro made a clenching motion with his hand and looked at the deer. Some seconds passed and all the men wondered if this so-called hero of Thor might be mad. One man's belly rumbled audibly and they started to grow impatient.
Suddenly a glowing blue hammer flew soundlessly down from the treetops.
*WHAM*
The Spectral weapon flattened the deer's skull against the ground, killing it quickly and painlessly, if not entirely noiselessly. At the same time it was obvious to all the the blow saved all the good meat, not even spoiling as much as from a good arrow blow.
"Hahaha! You see, men? Stick with me and your bellies will never be in want!"
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Over the coming weeks, the cheerful gnome spends his evenings pouring over Zove's spellbook and copying the rituals to parchment. Over and over, while he assembles special ink and blades, on which to tattoo his own tome of secrets. Occasionally, he pauses to collect the material to make more parchment and ink to feed his frenzied practice.
During the days, he accompanies the villagers as they tend their domesticated animals and wander in the nearby forests. He translates the animals' complaints, suggestions, concerns and secrets. After a few weeks, he is able to confirm Maryanne's translation of horse behavior into language, such that she can communicate with horses after he departs, which he must eventually. They are able to come to an agreement with the local clan of foxes who are the primary predators of the village chickens.
He stops himself from enjoying the peace and simple life in the sun remembering why he has been selected to escape the dark forest and hide from Grandmother's Curse. Guilt fuels his focus on the new rituals hoping that one will allow him to break the Curse.
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Spring is in full bloom and the weather has been a boon for both planting and rebuilding. Only the occasional storm has blown through in what has otherwise been a sunny, mild, and very pleasant spring. Flower's bloom all around the village and in the surrounding hills and forest. From a few simple rows of decorative daffodils to the nearby fields of huckleberries, wild strawberries, and elderberrys to the well-tended apple and pear orchards of the brothers Ivar and Brandr. This spring bounty is accompanied by the buzzing of bees, high pitched speedy chirping of hummingbirds, and the occasional fluttering butterfly.
The woods echo with the call of deer and elk. A welcome sound to the hungry village. A hunger soon abated soon when Aterro and the few remaining village hunters have success on their weekly forays, bringing in enough meat to keep the people fed when bolstered with fish and the few remaining grains left from Bentknee’s stores.
The spring planting, which at first had many folk worried because of lack of able bodies, has been a success. Trevor’s strong back and arms along with Ibrox’s help with the animals, most especially convincing the warhorse, Pearl, to accept pulling a plow for several days, insured the fields were tilled and seed planted without too much delay. With Maryanne’s insistence, Vrindel helps Skallagrim and Hildigunn perform the ancient Rites of Spring which helps to seal his acceptance into the village, with only a few truly close-minded folk still viewing the trollkin as a threat. But even they have to begrudging accept that his druidic magic and general knowledge of plants and their needs is the biggest boon to the village this year as the fields are already green with new sprouts and fruit is already beginning to show on the shrubs in what is looking to be the best harvest in seasons.
Trevor’s efforts at religious teaching are politely accepted and often met with welcome smiles, but his rhetorical skills are simply outmatched by old Skallagrim, the villages long time priest. Yet the knowing Freyja and Freyr are not jealous gods, the old priest shows an unexpected and unusual openness to the knights efforts. He encourages Trevor in exploring his faith and has spent more than a few evenings in thoughtful conversation over a pint at the Frost Maiden.
Needing to replenish his stores and with a promise to bring more vital goods and maybe a few more settlers back to help tame this wild land, Bentknee departs and heads back south to Courland. But before he goes he digs through a small chest of ‘specialty’ supplies often requested by those dabbling in the arcane arts. He finds enough of the unique inks needed by Ibrox to complete his copying of various spells, He also manages to dig up an old copy of a spell often used by merchants to determine the magical nature (or not) of items that may pass across their shelves. Having log ago memorized all he needed from the old vellum scroll, he offers to sell it to either Zove or Ibrox for a reduced price.
When not ensconced at her corner table in the Frost Maiden deep into her book and arcane studies, Zove spends her time wandering immediate area surrounding Nargenstal. Unfortunately, she finds little of interest. No hidden scrolls, secret wizard stashes, or other items of arcane power. She does stumble upon an old stone circle. Not far from the village, about half a mile into the woods. Long abandoned, but still harboring some power as the circle sits at the conjunction of two minor ley lines. When she asks Elder Hildigunn about the stone circle, the old woman waves her off with warning to steer clear of the place and how its haunted and a place of fell deeds. While this peaks the shadow fae’s interest, so far her companions in adventure have been too busy with other tasks to explore the place further.
So instead, Zove attempts to bring her own form of education to the youngsters of Nargenstal. It is unclear whether her efforts actually improved the children’s education, but the shadow fae is certainly the new favorite among the children. She’s now considered the most entertaining and funny of all the adults in the village after attempting to show the children how magic could be used to apply new whitewash to one of the buildings. Unfortunately a troublesome fly just happened to find the interior of her nose quite interesting. The subsequent lapse in concentration covered Zove in whitewash and resulted in a flurry of profanity and curses that really sealed her reputation among the youth, especially young Sven, one of the boys from doomed Vanderstal. Much to the consternation of his adoptive village, the young redheaded lad has taken to repeating nearly every profanity uttered on a regular basis.
Perhaps not surprising, Snicker is much more successful in his tasks. The little Octo-familiar’s undersea explorations are quite fruitful and he manages to discover and bring back several items of value previously tucked in the nooks and crannies of the sea bed beyond the protective shelter of Nargenstal’s little harbor. A silver ring, with ruby centerpiece, a simple gold chain necklace, a small trader’s box containing a handful of semiprecious stones, a dagger with no corrosion but a thin layer of ice covering the still sharp blade. A very productive haul overall.
All in all, a pleasant and productive month of Thunders. But the month is called Thunders for a reason and a few nights earlier, the first big storm since the companion’s arrival at the village hits the coast. Winds howl, thunder booms and lightning flashes across the sky. A powerful storm that fills some with dread, but Aterro with joy. It is on the Moonday following the storm that one of the boys bursts into the Frost Maiden, out of breath, and full of excitement. It seems that while out digging for clams and searching for eggs among the birds that nest along the shores, the lad discovered a ship, or the remains of a ship, a mile or two up the beach.
The days before, Trevor’s mood had darken in tune with the skies above. Perhaps it was the sense of completion, perhaps the disappearing of the sun, or the unfulfilled spirit of adventure that still filled his unburdened heart, but his thoughts circled ever back to Krakova.
As he sits that day in the Frost Maiden, trying to stay away from Aterro’s thunderous voice, he sits with the old Skallagrim and asks: "You’ve always been patient with me, patient and truthful, so I want to know what you think: Is this it? I mean, I look at my life, and I see purpose all right, helping the village, season after season. There’ll always be work, I can tell! But is that worthy service to Khors? Is that true redemption? Or am I just sh- Wait! What’s going on? A ship!?"
And without a thought, Trevor heads for the door, while Skallagrim smiles and thanks the gods.
"Where are the others? Is Aterro chanting in the rain still? Someone fetch him! And Zove, and all the others! Oh right, they’re here... What kind of ship was it? Reavers? Krakovans?"
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"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH WAS THAT NOT A STORM LAST NIGHT?!?" Aterro calls for no reason after he finishes his eggs and lets out an epic belch. "By Odin's magic spear was that not a fine, fine display of Thor's power? I know not if he was giving Loki a good thrashing or besporting himself with Sif but it must have been an evening for the ages!"
Aterro had spent much of the night outdoors and fully armored, relishing the splatter of the rain against his metal and the matching lighting work of his new and mighty spear. This was followed by much late work getting dry and oiling his equipment, and he only now was in full motion, a goodly time past his usual hour of rousal.
"Eh what? A ship? LET THEM COME!" Aterro screams, absolutely assuming it is more reavers. "I WILL KILL THEM ALL! Such a paper people, have they not lost enough men to this berg? We deal them a savage blow and they will LEARN the valuable lesson to leave this town, these people and the WHOLE of this LAND alone!
Trevor! Gather as many spears as can be had! IF they will have war we shall give them war!"
Aterro nods, truly Thor was in a generous mood. First the lightning storm and now a proper foe to whet his new and virgin blade. What else could a man ask?
A part of his brain contemplated that it was still a good time to accept the silent challenge of the evil circle that Zove had spoken of, but bigger things must come first.
Ibrox haggles with Rook for whatever he has of value for the old vellum scroll. He offers to exchange him scrolls of the new rituals that Zove gave him, secrets of his animals, fine leather goods, or a combination.
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Ibrox looks up from his tome, when the boy bursts into the inn. He stows his tome and follows Trevor out the door.
Trevor stiffens at being ordered: "Suuuure, bring them here and I’ll gladly fetch them..."
It was slim pickins in Nargenstal.
The exile had hoped for exotic adventure here on the north tip of the Red Queen's lands...for a time he even kept a artist's parchment and charcoal nearby in case of a regal parade in chance passing. But looking here at the dreary skies, familiar cold mud, and actual hard work made his nose crinkle, and his mustache droop with new split-ends. He took a moment there, swinging in his hammock on the back of the empty apple wagon, to reflect on some of the choices he made. Or, he intended to do that...then fell asleep.
He awoke abruptly to something that sounded like an idiot laughing. Ah, it was that wizard, one of the forward scouts...with two fistfuls of gems glinting rainbows everywhere and a look of pure, stupid happiness throwing a pitch black octopus very high up and down in glee prancing around. She danced a little too close to a sunbeam and screamed in terror, her eyes glowing like a cat's at night as they streamed tears in agony...the octopus splatted her in the face and she began wandering around blindly.
It was good to know someone had found some hidden bounty in this place...could it be that Scram could ride the tails of that catch? She didn't seem so tough, after all...it was always like she had just been punched in the face or had been stumbling around day 3 of a 3 day bender...'odd' fit, but wasn't exactly the right word for it, it was...
That was it. The subtle horns, her aversion to the sun...she wasn't one of the old elves but rather one of the new, twisted ones.
Scram had heard about shadow elves near Zobeck for the first time from the Winged Lion Company of merchants and rogues. Supposedly they kept an entire black market of battle gear and ancient magic under the ruins of some Castle Shadowbear or similar just north where the forest began. Way he heard it, those shadow elves had a whole damn palace around somewhere, hidden in shadow.
Light aversion. Yeah, that was the ticket.
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Survival?
Vrindel slowly fell into the routine of farm life. He did much of the hard physical labor, and though more used to plants and animals in the wilderness, gave what advice he could towards their domesticated equivalents.
Though he didn't feel as ostracized as he did when first settling into the village, he still found that being in a large gathering of people made him uneasy, so he built a small lean-to in the forest near the village, and spent time there recharging his connections to the natural world.
His young Student, Maryanne also showed great potential, and he spent much of his spare time teaching her about the balance of nature, and how to keep it fulfilled.
In fact he had just finished a lesson on the different mushrooms and fungi of the area and was walking his young apprentice back to the village for dinner, when he saw the young boy run into the inn.
"I guess we'd better go see what that's all about".
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Vrindel and Maryanne enter The Frost Maiden to discover it is a bustling cacophony of voices, worries, and shouting as everyone fears another attack by reavers or something worse. Especially as Aterro speaks of war and killing. The two are followed in by a half dozen of the other younger women and one other man, all armed in the ill fitting armor and arms of the reaver crew.
The boy, who isn't more then 10 years old, struggles to say more, but it isn't until Britta rings the big closing bell over the bar multiple times and pierces the air with a shrill whistle that she manages to get everyone calmed down enough to get their attention.
"Let's hear what the boy has to say first." She says leaning down toward the boy who rubs his arm across his nose and a hand through his shaggy mop of black hair.
"Well it's like I said miss. I was going along the shore near those big black and gray rocks that stick waaay out into the sea up north. Lookin' fer gull eggs when I suddenly looked up an' there it was. Big as that one sittin' at the dock. Maybe bigger." He says, sniffing a bit as he still struggles to catch his breath. "But it's all busted up. Worse'n the one at the dock. Mast is gone, portside's all busted in, and the aft looked to have been sheared clean off. An' I could see some bodies floatin' in the surf, but I didn't get too close. I did see some barrels an' crates that came ashore in one piece, but figured it'd be better to come get someone first."
Did you say the big jagged black rocks a good ways north o' the village?!" Exclaims Halig, "That'd be Hag Rock, for sure." He adds making the sign of Freyr to ward off evil. He's joined by most of the other villagers who get a somber, but almost relieved look on their faces. "Boy you're lucky to come away from there alive and those men were fools for sailing by that point during a storm." He says to the nodding agreement of several of the others.
"Whad'ya mean?" The boy asks, a bit put off that his tale has suddenly gotten him into some kind of trouble. "Ain't nothin' along there but sand, rocks, and birds."
Leaning in to give the boy a closer look, Halig nods as if confirming something to himself. "You're one of them newcomer youngins, ain't ya." He says. "Suppose I can't blame you fer not knowin'." He exchanges a look or two with Britta and a few of the other villagers. "Might be we should make sure these kids learn a thing or two afore we let 'em wander about so much. Lean times or not."
His words are followed by affirmative mutterings from the other locals and even Britta. "Of course you're right Halig." She says. "With the planting, supplies being lean, and so many lost to the reavers, we've not paid enough attention to the children."
"Heeeyyy. There weren't nothin' there but that ole ship...and I ain't no baby." The boy replies, eliciting a smattering of chuckles and a ruffle of the head by Britta.
"No, but the world is a dangerous place and wise folk avoid Hag Rock at all costs otherwise they end up like those poor souls you saw. Or worse, in the old ones pot." She hands the boy a slice of bread with just a bit of butter on it. "Here you eat this while we figure out what to do next."
"Do!? There ain't nothin' to do." Halig says shaking his head. "We can't go botherin' Her especially, like you said, when we're barely hangin' on as it is."
"Who's Her? Is it a hag? What do you know of her? Should we bother her? Should we stop Aterro from fighting her?"
Vrindel grows more agitated as the plot thickens.
"Hag or no Hag there might be survivors that need our help. I think we should take a small party to investigate and try to determine what the next step should be".
He takes the time to look around and make eye contact with his fellow adventurers.
He then turns to MaryAnn... "Take care of the animals while I'm gone... and now following... you're training is not to that point yet. Besides someone has to keep an eye on things while we're gone".
The big Trollkin starts for the door, taking for granted that the others will follow.
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"If there is someone purposely causing ships to crash, I see no reason not to bring them Thor's justice. Now, as to who follows whom..."
Aterro takes a nearby kitchen knife and hands it to the lad. "Here you go, boy. You can use it to spread your butter...or to rise and follow us with STEEL in thy hand. (I suppose technically you can do both, too.)
When I was your age I had already wore armor and marched with the company of DeathDealers. This is your choice, son."
Aterro marches onward.
Trevor looks at Aterro with wide eyes: "No way." he says and grabs the knife from the boy's hands. "You're staying here, lad. You've been brave enough and more mature than some of us in coming here first." and he gives a side glance at the priest.
"Right, now we go. Just us. And see what is what. Where's Zove?"
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"I did not know the ranks of Khors' paladins were made of wetnurses who hid from reality! You were not there when this village was raided, will you be there to single-handedly turn the tide of the undead that still marches on us?
No, you will be following whatever lark crosses your path on the latest wind, as you ever have. I will be protecting him, and so will you. But the earlier one sees justice metted out, the sooner one is prepared to toe their own battle-line."
Aterro takes another knife and languorously slides it in front of the boy, positioning himself between him and Trevor.
"As you are neither the lad's father NOR slave-master, will it kill you to let HIM have a say? He has a tongue, let him use it."
He casually hefts the Spear of Thor and glances surreptitiously at the door.
"Unless you care to press the matter."
The cheerful gnome follows Vrindel out the door leaving the two warriors to measure.
Scram had backed off. The fey wizard was rarely alone, and that damn octo-familiar was cunning. He needed a crowd that would never come to Narg. Elves couldn't be put to sleep with the milk of the poppy, nor was the halfling willing to try something stronger on Bentknee's hero. But chance always brings opportunity...
It came from the north: a dark layer of cloud thick with moisture, moving faster and swirling/crackling with electrical energy with a booming announcement of its coming. The raindrops surprise attacked the villagers, scattering them to every available inch of cover. He had to be quick to get near Zove...
One of the children was riding her coattails trying to get under an awning. Scram slipped her little doll out of her back pocket and tossed it in the mud "Hey, kiddo! You dropped your doll, spudling..." That won him a spot tightly next to Zove out of the rain. The little girl would just get a little wet, no harm done, right?
"Ahaha! Look at the blasts!" she commented stupidly. ::Yes, just keep looking...:: he thought.
It was a slow dance, governed entirely by random bursts of energy miles above. A flash, a wince, a grab...Scramsax was exploiting the lightning storm, using the bursts to pirate Zove's treasure of the seas...
The more rapid flashes of that blinding light that came, the harder Zove's tears, and the thicker the stash growing in Scram's hidden pockets. The storm was the thief's tool.
Trevor looks to Aterro with a stunned expression: "Did you just offer to fight me? Over this!? I guess all this waxing and polishing of your Revered Rod of Thunder has finally gotten to you, Thorsman, if you would turn every disagreement into battle... The kid has no parent, but I'm his guardian, and I. SAY. NO. And I don't need to fight you about it."
He turns to the kid: "You're a brave boy, but I'm your guardian, and I say you've done your fair share, now it's our turn to go and see what's what."
"What's your name again, son?"
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Aterro was about to declare that, yes, they were going to fight about it...but when he said he -was- the guardian, he forgot about everything else.
"Ah! I did not realize.... Well that certainly is a horse of a different color.
Of course, as the boy's keeper you have say over his actions. Indeed you must! Well this is something special and requires an oath I should say! A very special oath. By law this requires a member of clergy to administer it, but I just so happen to be qualified.
Ahem.
In the names of Thor and Loki, Odin and Sif, I do hereby witness and recognize the Oath of Guardianship I hath witnessed. Let all here know of the bond swore here today and lef it continue for all their days. Let peace and prosperity follow their footsteps always, and should the Guardian fail to, by action or inaction, keep the health and harmony of his charge, let him know the pain of death to come swift and true.
So say we all."
Aterro beems and claps Trevor on the shoulder muttering, "Good luck. That you have accepted responsibility is all the victory I could ask for."
Trevor looks at Aterro while he swears him in and reconsiders fighting the cleric after all. Instead, he just swallows hard and gives a terse: "Mthank... Now can we go?"
There is a long bit of silence following the sudden and intense exchange between Aterro and Trevor, but then smiles erupt and even a few hoorays as they suddenly realize the oath young Trevor has accepted. The moment is further blessed as a beam of sunlight reflects off of one of the steal practice shields hanging outside, though the window and across Trevor's face and chest. Bathed in the light of Khors, there is little doubt among the people present that this is a momentous and blessed occasion.
The young boy, still holding the butter knife, beams up at Trevor. "Owyn is my name, sir." He says, his eyes gleaming. "Does this mean I'm your squire now?" He adds brandishing the knife. "Are you gonna teach me to kill slavers and foul creatures of the night?"
While most are distracted by the sudden formal adoption of Owyn, Halig and a few others answer Ibrox's questions about the mysterious denizen of Hag's Rock.
"Hag? Well, maybe, maybe not." Halig says in response to the gnome's question. "Nobody rightly knows what or who she, if she even is a she, is. Only that ev'r since the village was settled there's been an agreement to stay clear of them rocks and the land east and north of there. Most who've gone up there don't end up coming back. And usually a couple of times a season some ship ends up busting up along that shore."
Fastiv, Maryanne's mother and another elder of the village, cuts into Halig's tale. "Aye. What he says be true." She says making another sign against evil. "My Harald, Maryanne's departed father, was out fishing one night years ago and he saw light burning bright as a midsummer fire on them barren rocks. Sure enough he figured they were trying to lure him in but he knew better and turned back for home. But there must have been some other less knowing captain out there that night because a few days later a few boards and bits came washing ashore from the north."
Her story causes those nearby to nod in understanding.
"So long as we've let her alone, she's let us alone." Halig says, taking a bite of bread for himself. "Best to leave well 'nough alone, I says." He adds eliciting a frown from Britta and several of the other newer 'women of the guard.'
"Well that may be your opinion Halig." Britta says her voice a bit scornful at the man's obvious indifference to so many lives lost. "But maybe it's high time we learned more of this mystery being and if these good warriors are willing to put an end to her villainy then all the better." She says, picking up steam as she goes. "We've suffered under reavers, storm, and the intrusions of Morgau. Perhaps the good cleric of Thor and knight of Khors are right and its high time we did a bit more than survive along this wild coast."
She pauses for a second, looking down at the young Owyn. "But it's also true we've got responsibilities and we're quite vulnerable at the moment." She looks at Vrindel, Ibrox, Trevor and Aterro. "If you good folk are willing to seek out this Hag or whatever she is and deal with her as you see fit, we will see your charges, your goods, and your beds are kept safe while you're away."
Britta's words gather smiles and nods from Maryanne and several of the other women and the other older men gathered around the inn. Only Halig and Fastiv shakes their heads with misgivings.
Trevor looks at Owyn: "Yes. I mean, no! Well... I’ll teach you to do what’s right. That’s hard enough as it is. Then we’ll figure the rest. For now, stay here and keep watch on the village until we return. Be nice, be helpful, and eat your greens!" says Trevor to the kid, his face deeeeep purple.
At the end, the cheerful gnome is the last one with the pearl to continue to practice.
"We'll see who or what it is. May just be superstition and coincidence. Let's go." The cheerful gnome stands ready at the door waiting for Sir Trevor and the Thorson rocking back and forth on his heels and spinning a magical image in his hand.
The valiant companions set out with the sun climbing higher toward midday. Big puffy white clouds slowly drift across the sky to the east while the waves of a high tide crash along the shore like boulders tumbling down a mountainside. With the tide nearly at its peak, you're forced to follow a less direct and winding trail through the forest used mostly by deer or the occasional grazing cow. Despite the lack of a real trail or road, there is little chance of getting lost, as the shoreline is always near and well within hearing.
Finally the shore widens enough that it is easy to drop down onto the sandy beach and follow it rather than hack and slash your way through the dense undergrowth of the temperate rain forest. As you break clear of the trees and brush you see can a half mile or so up the coast to where a ship has clearly run ashore. Even from this far it's clear the boy didn't exaggerate too much. The ship is a total loss with a broken mast, the bow crumpled and a sizable hole gashed in the starboard side. Bits of board, rope, and a few other bits of flotsam tumble in the surf not far from where you currently stand.
Just beyond the wreck is a sizeable rocky point. The jagged, black and pale gray stone juts out into the sea forming a natural point topped by a formation of eroded stone that could vaguely resemble the shape of a heavyset woman. More importantly, judging by the action of the waves and the tumbling whitecaps further out, the rocks continue under the surface much further out making a dangerous barrier for any unwary ship navigating close to shore. A smattering of small, windblown pine trees grow atop the stone closer to shore, while numerous birds squawk, chip, and whistle as they perch on the rocks bathed by the breaking surf.
Indeed the doomed craft must have struck rock as it came south along the coast. It's obvious even to any land lubber that rocks caused that damage to the bow, but those gashes high up on the starboard side. Those are more puzzling. Perhaps they happened as control was lost and the ship capsized, but they also look terribly similar to how it would look if a massive claw tore through the hull.
A few bodies tumble and toss in the high surf. A few others drift a little further out. But it does appear there were some survivors. Further up the beach where the grass covered dunes start to give way to thin pines and scrub brush, you are able to see a few obvious footprints in the sand. Far enough back that they haven't been washed out by tide or storm. But beyond those few prints, there's been no other sign of life beyond the circling birds.
Your gaze flips back to the ship and one of the bodies floating a few dozen yards offshore. At first you think your eyes are playing tricks in the bright sun as the corpse bobs underwater suddenly and inexplicably, then pops back to the surface. Once, twice it disappears under the surface. Then after a third time it doesn't return to the surface and is gone for good.
SWAWK! The cheerful gnome calls out to the numerous birds which are perched on the rocks. Free food to the first bird who tells me what happened to that human construction there by the rocks. He offers some of his rations for information speaking bird.
Ignoring Ibrox, who seems to have relapsed into Gnomish madness, Trevor says: "You think it’s a Reaver’s ship?"