Stochelo’s suggestions of capture and interrogation are cut short as Elduin hurls his last fistful of magical fire, scorching the fallen lump of fur and teeth. With a pityful wimper, the werewolf twitches and lies still.
"No matter, I suppose. Nature red in tooth and claw, eh, new guy?"
Once the gear has been gathered, Stochelo approaches the masked elf.
"Pleased to meet you, I'm known as Stochelo Carmenta, and we're all members of the Foxclaws. I take it you are not a fan of the Molthuni invaders, much like us?"
He offers a hand after sheathing his weapon.
"Well then, they were all bark and no bite." Clayton pulls some fur off of his hands, the coated venom sticking to it. Moving toward Stochelo he asks, "You did good there. Patience is key to a good hunter," And as he says that he turns to the archer, "That spell helped a lot, cut them off good."
Waiting a moment, judging the masked man's reactions to Stochelo, he sighs and offers his name anyway, "There goes stealth, but then again it seems this operation was a bust anyway. Clayton." He offers a wave from the brush.
Elduin sits back down on his rock and in the same moment Fowyn arrives and lands on his shoulder. The bird looks at the newcomers with a sharp eye.
He reaches down and accepts the hand shake but releases quickly.
"Elduin Faenan is the name and this is my forest. Well not technically, but I protect it. Can't have these savages running around here. I know of the Foxclaws, not always the most peaceful themselves..."
Silas shakes his head almost imperceptibly when their incapacitated foe is snuffed out by the masked man's flame. As the others gather around the newcomer, slapping themselves on the backs, gushing fawning accolades, and introducing themselves, the tiefling remains in the tree top. We weren't running from just three werewolves, he thinks as he continues scouring the surrounding forest for additional pursuers.
At the masked man's last comment Silas' eyes narrow in anger...
Grumbles does not waste time in chatter but instead fits another arrow to his bow string and then moves to try to retrieve some of his previously fired arrows, eyes shifting for new threats and ears open for the sound of on coming attackers.
Clayton shrugs at the comment about the Foxclaws, while he wasn't an official member in any capacity he did sign up for this for reasons that are nearly as selfish and continues, "If this is your glade we should get moving, it was more than just three of them." He gives a quick look around, "Can you lead us out of here?"
Lead us out?! I'm not following this stranger anywhere! We are to regroup with the others as Whiteforge ordered, Silas hisses down from the treetop. We are Foxclaws, and those are our friends out there!
"nevertheless, I have never refused to help them, if asked. Where do you need to go"?
He hesitated to wait for a reaction. Then he added. "Maybe we're going the same direction. I need to meet up with Forest Marshal Gavirk."
"We all scattered for a reason, Silas. I am sure this elf...I'm sorry, I dont think I caught your name...can help us get to the rendezvous. He seems to have quite the talent for forest magic and the like. "
Once the looting has been completed, Stochelo assists with distributing the weight around and makes ready to continue on.
"So, lads, shall we?"
Distant howls and sounds of combat underline the fact that more werewolf troops are about. While you have been talking, all three fallen werewolves have expired and reverted to human form.
The trio is armed with mundane longswords, daggers and light crossbows. They are wearing chainmail and have a handful of coins among them. Nothing registers as magic.
In event of a failed mission, standard Foxclaw procedure is to scatter and fall back to a prearranged assembly point a few miles away to regroup. If no other survivors appear, orders are to withdraw back to Nirmathas.
Another howl, closer this time, echoes through the woods as the last light of the day begins to dip beneath the treetops.
Lets move... we will be having more guests otherwise , Grumbles states.
"I agree with Grumbles, lets make ourselves scarce." Clayton eyes the dead wolves and the glinting money, No. Not worth it.
"Do you think scattering is a good idea here? They knew of our attack, if they know our procedures we might get harried down one by one."
Silas' suspicious nature is not allayed by the masked man's remarks. In response to Stochelo's comment, the illusionist persists in his objections. You have talent for magic. I have talent for magic. What of it? We are too quick to judge this man friend. Based on what? He helped put down some Molthune foot soldiers? For all we know he is an agent of Molthune himself. Spies are everywhere in these forests. They may have heard of the Marshal's summons and are attempting to place an assassin in our midst. For that, Molthune would surely sacrifice a few lycanthropes.
A flick of his tail brings Silas floating back down to ground level.
We need to at least attempt to go to the rally point. All of us together. We may be able to save at least some of our brethren. This man can accompany us if you wish, but until someone can vouch for him we should guard our words and watch our collective backs.
Silas welcomes the dying of the light, the shadows and darkness that begin to take hold in the forest. He produces a bit of black leather from his component pouch and recites arcane words which seem to pull darkness from all around him, enveloping him in a shadowy shroud of it. It then appears to harden and fade mostly from view.
He turns expectantly in the direction of the rally point.
"He says he doesn't trust me, but immediately turns his back to me." Elduin jokes to Clayton.
Elduin jumps down from the rock and joins the rear of the traveling group. As Silas heads the group, he whispers again: "Maybe he's jealous. Feel's threatened that he isn't the only spellslinger in this party."
Then he adressed his familiar. "Fowyn, can you please check out where the noise is coming from. We don't want any more surprises." With that the eagle rose into the sky.
"Better a foe within blades reach than one skulking about where you cant see him, Silas. But I agree with you, we should split, and head for the rendezvous. Any search party who stumbles across us, we put down, and keep an eye out for other Foxes."
Stochelo looks over the dead werewolves equipment before shaking his head.
"No time to start looting, and we need to move fast and light. Shall we, boys?"
Jealous? Seems someone is projecting.
"No need to be snapping at each other's throats. We have enough problems as is already." Clayton gives a tired look and shakes his head, "You mages and your power. Have your hand waving duel later we have a self extraction to plan." The ex-con knows that tension won't help the group and tries to draw the ire to himself, hoping it bridges things if temporarily.
"I'll watch the flank, move together, nothing has changed."
"Just like all the other times, lads. Move with purpose, and watch your backs. New Guy, can your bird talk to you? Like a familiar or something? If so, his eyes will be most useful up ahead and watching. "
Stochelo uses his pearl of power to regain his magic missile spell, then heads out with the group, hand on the hilt of his rapier.
"Again, the name's Elduin. And yes, I can communicate telepathically with Fowyn. He'll warn us for sure."
Ill cover the other flank, grumbles says as he moves among the trees scanning for trouble[/b].
With Fowyn keeping watch above, your small band carefully ventures deeper into the Fangwood. Soon, all signs and sounds of combat fade and when you reach the rallying point, the forest is dark and quiet.
You are quickly able to locate the improvised shelters and small cache of hidden provisions left here. The autumn air is warm and pleasant,but there is plenty of firewood, in case you want to build a fire.
Seeing that we are the first to arrive at the rally point, the disappointment in Silas' voice is obvious. Not a good sign. We should wait for a while to see if any manage to straggle in. I think we should forgo the fire for now. We certainly don't need to reveal our position to any unfriendlies about.
Grabbing a handful of the stashed food, Silas flicks his tail and takes to the tree tops to watch and listen for any signs of friends, or foes, as he quietly eats the cold provisions.
Elduin sits down on a log on the border of the camp site and unpacks his own provision. "No, that's not for you! Go catch a mouse or something." He said to Fowyn.
"Thanks for the assist, Elduin. That tangle spell was quite handy, I dont suppose that's something I could learn and stash in my book, eh. No, I didnt think so."
Stochelo grabs some rations and settles in against a tree.
"So we got word there was some great forest scout and defender of the woods, was gonna help us against the Marshal. Dont suppose that's you, Elduin? You got a bone to pick with the Molthuni?"
"The Marshal? Yeah, I know him. I'm on my way to help him out with a job. And yes, as I said, I consider this forest under my protection. So maybe we were supposed to meet..."
Clayton strolls into the camp and then turns to Silas, "I ain't good in the dark but you're right. No point complaining about that when we can easily just avoid the scrap altogether." He takes a seat on a hump in the ground and looks at Elduin and Stochelo, "So the mysterious forest dweller ends up meeting us by sheer chance? Colour me impressed at fate then." The ration makes a cracking sound as he bites into it, "So what job you talkin' about?"
Hours pass, and all is quiet. When the first light of dawn filters down, neither friend nor foe have appeared.
Grumbles quietly sees to his equipment, eats last then moves silently around camp seeing to a myriad of tiny tasks that make for a good and orderly camp that has everything squared away and on hand at the same time.
Replying to Elduin through mouthfuls of hard bread and nuts, Stochelo manages a grin.
"Almost like we were fated. It was in the cards all along, and our encounter against those werewolves was the end of that introduction, and beginning of our story together. I see that. I like that idea, and I think it's a good one."
As he finishes his cold-pack meal, he tries to make himself more comfortable against the hard bark of the oak tree.
"You probably figured it out, but Silas is our spellslinger, Grumbles handles ranged and scouting, while Clayton and I mix it up close and personal like. Judging from your magic and bow, I'm guessing you're like a mix of me and Grumbles, right? Keep them at bay, pepper em with arrows, and fade? Working together, I think it's a good match. For now, at least."
When talking to Stochelo: "Grumbles seems more than just a name" and he grins while looking where the Ranger was.
"Yeah fate, see it isn't just me!" He reaches into a bag and pulls out a deck of Harrow cards, "Anyone play? We can play for worst watch." A glint comes over his eyes and he continues, "Stochelo, Elduin? I wouldn't dare ask the other two." Giving a sly grin in Silas' and Grumbles' direction he continues, "Though more the merrier."
He starts to shuffle it up and whistles an old Varisian song to Desna, while he wasn't much of a religious person, he did always like the performances and depictions of the Starsong.
Elduin hesitates first, but then comes closer. Better to make friends.
"I really do not believe in fate or luck. There's nothing the birds couldn't have told me."
Elduin grabs a colorful feather from his pouch and speaks some words the others could never understand. Immediately after his face seems to be a little bit more charming and inviting than it did before.
A few minutes later Fowyn comes back with a fat mouse in his claws. He just passes by to show off and then retreats into the trees for dinner.
Silas remains in the treetop, listening to the conversation below but not participating. As the night wore on, and with no sign of friend or foe, he pulled a sash from his pack and tied himself around the waist to the trunk of the tree. His long tail coiled around the branch he sat upon, he proceeded to doze off until it was his turn to take watch.
"So tell me Elduin, where'd you learn that whole... thing you do?" Clayton draws the Rabbit Prince, his hand looking fairly mediocre right now, "I worked a little with Crystalhurst and the druids myself, though I can't say I really understand it all." He places his hand facedown and extends his fist out, the handwraps having a strange vapor and wetness to them, "Don't really understand this here either. They said it might be naga, scorpion or some other blood of an aberration, but it helped them with their problem though so whatever it is, its fortuitous fate led me to them." He gives a wink.
Stochelo fiddles with the cards and makes his play.
"As usual, a losing hand for me. At least we're not gambling our pay away this time, eh lads?"
He wiles away the time with jokes and snarky quips, trying to ignore the fact that more of the Foxclaws haven't made it to the rendezvous spot.
"So. Anyone got an idea what this big mission is all about? Figure its gotta be something pretty special to pull us in like this, risk so many folks."
Soon, dawn becomes day and you all begin to realize that the odds of any more survivors showing up are dismal. Reluctantly, you break camp and make your way northeast out of the forest.
On foot, the journey back to Tamran takes a few uneventful days. On fourth day, you reach the marshlands at the mouth of the Marideth River, and soon you are able to spy the waters of lake Encarthan.
Before long, you step onto the first of the many connected bridges and walkways that lead into the capital. Despite having been occupied a handful of times and razed to the ground by Molthune forces, Tamran has no physical defenses.
The city is a mishmash of wooden buildings scattered atop piers and wharves, divided by murky marshland and connected by bridges, coracles, and skiffs. High wooden walls once surrounded Tamran, but the Nirmathi tore them down during the Freedom War. Since the Molthuni army could easily overpower the city’s defenses with their superior arms, the walls trapped citizens within Tamran and made them easy targets. Dismantling the walls allowed the Nirmathi to flee into the Fangwood and the marshlands during attacks, where they lived well through their survival skills and prepared their retaliations.
Your small band is able to stroll unchallenged into the city. The Marshal's Stead lies in the Northern part of the city, and this is the most likely place to find Forest Marshal Gavirk. Further south, you can see the floating market and familiar landmarks like the Forest Bounty feasthall, Ranger's Lament and The Weathered Sail.
Silas sees no reason to dally.
Clayton comes into settlement and aims toward the northern part of the city, "Lets get in and get out, time is ticking." He passes by some families on the walkways and he gives a look of contemplation before picking up speed "Any idea what this might be about?"
Arriving at the Marshal's Stead, you are finally challenged by guards. After identifying yourselves, you are respectfully instructed to wait in the mess hall until the Marshal is ready to meet you. While meal time is still a few hours away, a couple of servants soon offer you a selection of food and drink.
Less than half an hour later, you are all escorted to Forest Marshal Weslen Gavirk's office. The tall, lean commander of the Nirmathi army looks up from a pile of papers and maps as you enter, his marked features and distinct goatee easily recognizable. He speaks with the natural authority of a man who has earned his rank through leadership on the battlefield.
Welcome. I understand that you are all that remain of the recent Foxclaw mission led by group leader Whiteforge. And you have managed to persuade our woodsman friend to accompany you back here, I see. Good to see you, Master Faenan. Your reputation precedes you.
Marshal Gavirk gestures for you to sit, and leans back against his desk, a weary look upon his face.
I imagine you are wondering why I have asked you here. I have a special mission that requires a very particular skillset. But first, I'd like a full report of your recent mission in the Fangwood, and why so few of you made it back. With my knowledge of Burstel Whiteforge and the men he leads, something remarkable must have transpired.
"Thank you, sir. It's nice to see you well. We actually did meet once, but you wouldn't remember as I was still a young boy. But you should remember my father, Endras. He did my job before me and I believe your ways crossed a few times."
Elduin made a pause for the Marshal to think. In the facial expression he clearly remembered.
"He always spoke highly of you. Today is the time the birds sing. I need to return what was invested in me."
Grumbles is characteristically silent awaiting one of his companions to report before adding his own two coppers.
Clayton sized up the man, meeting him only once before he finally had a proper moment to assess him. He had presence, that was for sure, but Clayton was still wary of him. He knew full well that organizations, any organizations have their share of darkness lurking underneath. He held it in for now, he had a job to do and a mission in mind.
"Lycanthropic ambush. Its almost as if they knew we were coming for the supply wagon." He waves a hand at the others, "And this is all that's left. Not much else to say really except we're all thats left." He takes a seat and crosses his legs, "We waited but truth be told, no signs of life." Leaning forward he continues, "Now this special mission, it doesn't happen to involve us getting our throats ripped out by werewolves does it?"