A blinding flash of light lit the bar, causing sunspots in front of the eyes of everybody. The three bar brawlers closest to the flash felt the light is a form of pain, and the almost-holy radiance burned their flesh and boiled their blood. The two Ulfen who'd been fighting Ner dropped to the ground, looking scalded and torn apart by Petronia. The chair-thrower screamed in pain, then dropped as well, his cry cut off as he fell suddenly asleep.
Beneath the table, Hjort's decoy was openly sobbing, the sound audible even over the chaos of the fight.
The two remaining brawlers, both unhurt, seemed unfazed by the rapidity of their comrades deaths. The one near Matheus picked up another chair and swung it at the partially trapped druid. The chair cracked him across the head, and the druid felt the world begin to go black around him. He shook it off, staying on his feet, at least for now.
The new arrival, seeing the blood all over Petronia, felt his own blood rise in response. Grabbing a potion from his belt he downed it, his muscles bulging as he did so. Throwing out his arms wide, in what was clearly an invitation, he howled wordlessly with battle hunger.
Oksana walks further into the room, her head held up to help stanch the bleeding from her nose. Again she calls upon her patron and aims the sleep spell at the fighter who just downed the potion and was looking to attack the bloody halfling.
Ner watched as foes dropped around him. Magic?! He looked about and saw Man Matheus in dire straights. Without thinking, he ran in a sleek S curve ducking only slightly to avoid the table tops and as he passed the side of the chair wielding Ulfen, slashed out with his shortsword. He aimed between the thug's legs like Ner had missed his target altogether, but then he pulled the blade back against the inner thigh ... hunting for the femoral artery.
Ner, you just killed him! Matheus is saved!
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Ner stood there for a second or two breathing heavily. A warm jet of arterial spay across his face ran a bit as the man slumped to the floor. It would take six seconds for the man's heart to push his blood out of the wound. It was like the early days, the lone times, where strength wasn't the final say. You had to be quick. You had to know where. You had to kill. As the man's face turned white, tiny Ner looked at Matheus with a child's grin, indifferent eyes, and blood glistening in the heat of the Horned Helm. He would eat extra tonight ... he'd really earned it.
Breath taken, Ner's eyes flashed towards Petronia ... and the stranger.
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"Saved by the bell... and the blade. Thank ye, friend," Matheus murmured, meeting the halfling's eyes before Ner turned his attention back to Petronia. The innocence in the little warrior's gaze, combined with the warm, red threads of blood of their enemies on his face tore at the druid's heart.
Ner was a curious sort, he had found, trapped in the confines of a ship at sea for weeks and months that they had been. Shy but eager to build friendships with everyone around him. Nothing Matheus could find fault with. But now, that familiar smile, on a face covered with fresh blood, and that look in his eyes... was the halfling's soul weeping behind that innocently smiling facade? Or was he the type who's reason went away during battle, cast aside so it wouldn't get in the way of serious business? Or was the druid simply reading too much to a single fleeting glance, when he himself was light-headed from pain and barely keeping to his feet?
Seeing one of the still-standing combatants casting a charm of healing upon himself, Oksana moves forward to speak with him
"That was some greeting I must say. Are you alright? What started this brawl?"
She looks down ant the blood-soaked halfling smiling up at them and a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold passes through her body.
Petronia snarled at her would-be challenger, "Can't face me without the use of magic, eh? No matter!"
With that, she leapt at the man made burlier by whatever he drank and tore at his flesh.
Petronia leaps at the man and bites deeply into his shoulder. The Ulfen barely feels the pain, and strikes back with a blow of his own. However, the teeth in his deltoid prevented him from powering up his punch, and the blow glances aside.
As the last man standing, the man is quickly put down by Petronia and Ner. Soon, the only sounds in the inn are the sobbing coming from under the table, the crackle of the fires, and some short-lived applause by one of the bystanders.
Taking an occasional glance at Oksana, Ner went about the room looking for food left out on tables and gathered up a smorgasbord. He really wasn't sure how to introduce himself.
"That was some greeting I must say. Are you alright? What started this brawl?"
"Would you believe the quality of the ale? No, I suppose you wouldn't, and no reason you should," the fat druid rumbled, sighing as the power of his invocation flowed through his body like a wave of icy water, numbing the pain and soothing his injuries.
"Truth now. We got in town yesterday, and immediately got mixed with a man who'd really like to see us dead. Well, we object that, and besides, the man in question might know something we need to know - the fact he seems to hate us before we have even met certainly suggests he knows something worth knowing," the druid went on, sitting down heavily on a bench and reaching out to a tankard a previous patron had forgotten in his haste to escape, and that had miraculously remained upright. The druid took a long pull from it, relishing in the taste of the awful rotgut and sighed.
"Guess the man had thought something like that might happen, even though he didn't exactly pain a train for us to follow. The moment we started asking questions, these gentlemen decided to object," Matheus gestured at the brawlers lying in various states of bleeding-out, all-the-way-dead and just-out-like-a-light around the room.
"Thank ye for the assistance, by the way, and apologies for getting the natives all riled up for you. Matheus Winterglade, at your service. And at the service of your nose, perhaps? That looks like it'd sting like a bugger. Want me to fix it for you? Least I could do, to someone who got mixed up in a mess of ours."
Petronia morphs back into her human self and then spits the remnants of blood and tissue out of her mouth onto the last body that she had dropped with Ner's help. She moves over to the bar and asks the bartender for a drink, "I need someone to wash the foul taste of human out of my mouth."
Downing the shot in one gulp, she takes a sharp intake of breath as the stronger alcohol burns down her throat. Shaking her head, she moves over to the closest body and begins to search the brawlers for any clue as to where the real Hjort may be hiding.
Ner gophered his neck, stood up in his chair and then on the table. He hopped from that table to the next lightly like he was playing some kind of game with and invisible hide'n'seeker. He stopped at a table he liked and knelt down looking over the edge and underneath and giggled his way through saying, "Yer funny! Why are you crawling??
He looked over at Petronia and said, "I found him! ... Can I go next?", as he hopped of the table to place himself between it and the door.
Oksana watches the antics of the halfling with some concern, almost missing the Human's introduction and offer of assistance.
"That is very kind of you to offer, but I can deal with it later. My name is Oksana. Why is your halfling chasing that man? Was he the start of this brawl?"
A quick cantrip and her clothes and face are blood-free.
Petronia looks up from the body she is searching as Ner says he found someone. Her eyes narrow as she notices the fake Hjort trying to slink away. She strides over to him, pushing two chairs out of her way in the process, and drags him to his feet. She slams him down into a nearby chair that hadn't been upended and jabs a finger in his face, "Stay!"
Looking over at Matheus she says, "You should question him. If I do it, he'll probably lose the majority of his teeth or have his throat torn out."
It is then that Petronia notices the newcomer. "Ner isn't chasing him, he's playing hide-n'-seek with him," she says as if it's the most normal thing in the world. Distractedly she says to Ner, "I don't have time to find you right now. You're too good and there're bodies to search to see if we can find out where to go next."
She then goes back to searching the bodies.
"I need someone to wash the foul taste of human out of my mouth."
Expertly flipping the bodies of the dead and unconscious Ulfen, Petronia finds three potions - one labelled strength, and two labelled health. She comes across a total of 17 gold worth of coins, in varying denominations.
She also found a squashed note in the pocket of one of the initial attackers. It read: "The trap has been set. The idiot PFs think they're mighty clever, but almost everybody they've spoken to is one of mine. They should finally "discover" the Helm today. Give them a thrashing, and make sure that waste of flesh Drong doesn't fall apart; he's the bait. With luck you can keep them busy while Runa and I finish up."
Petronia quickly stows what she finds and then holds up the note, "Guys, we may have a problem. Apparently this was a diversion as well as a trap."
The brawler gets to her feet and stomps her way back over to the Hjort impostor. Her voice takes on a menacing tone that promised pain should he try to jerk her around, "Drong, where are Hjort and Runa?"
Tears still soaking into his beard, (as well as other, less appealing fluids), Drong started to wail again. "I'll tell you everything. Everything! Just don't hurt me!"
When Petronia stepped forward, he shrank in his chair. "They're at the armoury! Him and Runa, and the others too. You should go right now!"
Petronia finds three potions - one labelled strength, and two labelled health. She comes across a total of 17 gold worth of coins, in varying denominations.
Whenever we go to a tavern, Petronia always finds the money to pay for supper Ner hurries about to make sure all of the coats are ready and the packs are organized, assuming they would be going.
"Armory, is it? And I assume you'd know where to find it? How 'bout how many men Hjort has there with him? And anything else of importance? Prisoners awaiting rescue, perhaps? Hoards of gold ripe for plunder?" Matheus asked, crossing his arms, wondering if this was another piece of planted information, a fallback plan of Hjort's in case his group of strongmen here in the bar proved unequal to the task.
Oksana waits for one of the remaining people in the tavern to perhaps talk to her in answer to her questions.
You should go right now!
"Well then, we should totally go," Petronia says dryly.
"I'm very tempted to drag you with us wherever we go so that Runa and Hjort know that you helped us. It's the least we could do considering you helped them with their pathetic trap. I'm more annoyed that you helped them waste our time."
Noticing that the newcomer was waiting for something, the brawler struggled to remember what she had said right when the fighting had ended. "Oksana, right? Ner the halfling wasn't chasing Drong but he did spot him trying to slink away like the coward he is." She motions at the scattered bodies, some alive and some dead. "They started the brawl because they are mercenaries and lacked good judgment. We were just looking to talk to a man named Hjort." She gives Drong a swift kick in the shin, "Which this one was pretending to be, hence the trap."
Unabashedly staring at the woman who seemed to have all the colour drained from her, Petronia asked, "So why are you here? Are you part two of the trap?"
Oksana nods to each in turn as the warrior woman introduces her companion.
"No, I am not part of...this! I do not know this Hjort that you speak of. IS he the Hetman of this village? As to why I am here...well..."
Oksana stops talking and for the first time wonders what she IS doing here.
Running away...well that would be the truth, but I do not wish to explain why to these..foreigners. Although I might find some safety with those outside of the North's political structure!
With only a few moments of real-time passing as she weighs her answer, the witch makes a decision.
"Like those you just defeated, I too am a mercenary, though not as base as them. I have a great knowledge of the north and some magical ability as well. Might you be looking for some help to find this Hjort? I ask only a fair share of any loot and the chance to travel with your group."
She stands and awaits the companies response to her offer.
To Matheus's questions, the lookalike nods his head vigorously. "Yes, I know where it is! Just across the market! Square, blank building, very boring! Houses on the other side. Just the four of them, I think. Hjort, Runa, Lazar, and that pointy-eared guy. Gruyere or something, like cheese? And some mercs, I guess. Two or three?"
He seemed eager to please, to avoid death by fang and claw. "He's gonna steal all the weapons. Castellan's gonna be powerless, and he'll blame you guys. Mercs are gonna look like Pathfinders, see?"
"No, I am not part of...this! I do not know this Hjort that you speak of. IS he the Hetman of this village? As to why I am here...well..."
"No. But he is a leader of his own group that seem to have lost its own hold, and he bears a grudge against us for that, even though only two days ago we didn't even know he and his kin existed," Matheus said, sighing. "I'd love to just leave him wallow in his own delusions, but we fear he might have kidnapped or killed a person of some importance to us, and catching him seems the only way to find out for sure."
"Like those you just defeated, I too am a mercenary, though not as base as them. I have a great knowledge of the north and some magical ability as well. Might you be looking for some help to find this Hjort? I ask only a fair share of any loot and the chance to travel with your group."
"Mercenary, eh?" Matheus said, giving the blonde stranger a considering look. They could certainly use more spells or blades at their side, and she had just helped them, but the timing was awfully convenient. If one wanted to plant a spy into an enemy camp, having her help the enemy in an encounter the enemy was always supposed to win would be a good way to do it.
"Can't say we wouldn't need some help. So, what terms do you offer, and what vows are you willing to swear? No offense, but the three of us are strangers in a place that seems out to get us. A little bit of suspicion keeps a man breathing."
He seemed eager to please, to avoid death by fang and claw. "He's gonna steal all the weapons. Castellan's gonna be powerless, and he'll blame you guys. Mercs are gonna look like Pathfinders, see?"
"'Look like Pathfinders'? What does that even mean? It's not like we are issued an uniform," Matheus grunted, inviting those present and still conscious to find one thing in common in the way he, Ner and Petronia were dressed. "Still, that doesn't sound good at all. Since the local guards don't know what a Pathfinder should look like, I suppose there's a chance Hjort could manage to pull it off with some fast talking."
She stands and awaits the companies response to her offer.
Ner walked over to this new bigun' and stared ... a little too long. He listened to her words carefully and then took a deep intake of air through his nose.
He thought she smelled a little lost and the kind of cautious that mirrored their own. Having clearly made up his mind about her ... "I could carry your pack for a bit ... you know, just for the start ... if you wanted." With the halfling, an invasion of privacy was a sure sign of acceptance.
"'Look like Pathfinders'? What does that even mean? It's not like we are issued an uniform," Matheus grunted, inviting those present and still conscious to find one thing in common in the way he, Ner and Petronia were dressed. "Still, that doesn't sound good at all. Since the local guards don't know what a Pathfinder should look like, I suppose there's a chance Hjort could manage to pull it off with some fast talking."...
Drong stared at the three Pathfinders with a look of incredulity. "You're southern. You kill people in the streets. Won't be hard to fake." He shook his head. "And once Darkwine finds out it's Pathfinders that wrecked the armoury, your lot will be hunted down, banned from the Lands forever. That's what Hjort says."
Petronia scoffs at Drong, "So everyone who is Southern is a Pathfinder? That's ridiculous. Not all Southern people look alike." She motions at her companions, "We look nothing alike. And I've seen a lot of attempted killing by you Northerners, so how is that better? In fact it's probably worse because they all failed."
She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, "Who is this Darkwine that has the power to ban us from the Lands forever?"
Oksana looks down at the halfling and gives him a half-smile, but there is something very chilling about that smile.
"Thank you for the offer, but I can carry it for now. It sounds like you have run afoul of these savages and could use a hand. I will swear to whatever oath you like and I can offer my arcane skills and knowledge of the North. I hope that will suffice?"
Coming from the North, would I know anything about this Darkwine character or the structure of the politics here?
Petronia scoffs at Drong, "So everyone who is Southern is a Pathfinder? That's ridiculous. Not all Southern people look alike." She motions at her companions, "We look nothing alike. And I've seen a lot of attempted killing by you Northerners, so how is that better? In fact it's probably worse because they all failed."
She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, "Who is this Darkwine that has the power to ban us from the Lands forever?"
Drong shrugged. "I don't know nothing about no attempted killing. But the only southerners we see here are merchants or adventurers, and you ain't no merchants. Darkwine's the castellan. He's the one in charge of keeping us safe from Irrisen."
At the mention of Irrisen, Oksana turns and looks at Drong.
"There is no protection from Irrisen...espically not from some mewling coward like Darkwine! He is only the castellan of this backwater, Trollheim. I would be wary of what you say about Irrisen...you never know when a witch could be listening!"
Intimidate:
"There is no protection from Irrisen...espically not from some mewling coward like Darkwine! He is only the castellan of this backwater, Trollheim. I would be wary of what you say about Irrisen...you never know when a witch could be listening!"
Ner takes two, very practical steps away from Oksana.
Drong shrank back from Oksana's anger, and began snivelling again. "Look, I told you everything you wanted to know. Don't kill me, please!"
"Thank you for the offer, but I can carry it for now. It sounds like you have run afoul of these savages and could use a hand. I will swear to whatever oath you like and I can offer my arcane skills and knowledge of the North. I hope that will suffice?"
"Beggars can't be choosers, and you could have lend a hand to the brutes instead of us, if that's what your game was," Matheus said, shrugging his shoulders. "Let's leave the details for later, and proceed with mutual trust. And as to how to proceed exactly...
"I do have a bit of trouble buying Hjort could get the Pathfinders blamed for what he's going to do that easily, but that's no reason to just stand back and enjoy the spectacle - never had any fondness for blood sports in the first place. So I guess we are off to the armory - if the deluded bugger is ready to strike at any moment, I don't want to risk going for the guards first - we might not meet any familiar faces and might have to start from the beginning, and by the time the fellows were starting to even listen, the deed might have been done already."
Petronia takes her coat from Ner and exchanges it for one of the health potions she found. "Looks like you weren't quick enough. This should make you feel better."
She takes a few steps towards the door, "Armory it is, then. How lucky am I? Another chance to swing a few punches and it isn't even my name day."
She looks at the newcomer, "Come with us if you wish. You seem capable enough."
The brawler grabs Drong on her way to the door and drags him after her, "You're going to take us to the armory and if you don't, you'll pay dearly."
Ner had that feeling as they headed out the door, that feeling of being hunted. He never feels 'in control' but sometimes it was particularly strong. They were several steps behind. Hjort, Runa ... somebody named Lazar ... and the cheese named man were all friends. The people who said they weren't were working for them. And now the four Pathfinders were going to the place where they were to be set-up. They weren't in control.
In the past, if he felt out of control, and he was running ... he was usually running away.
He loosened his arrows in his cork bottomed quiver and headed out the door.
Drong quivers and nearly collapses as Petronia drags him to the door. "It's easy, it's close! Just across the market, the square, plain building. Can't miss it!" Protesting weakly, he grabs his parka as she pulls him outside into the bitter cold.
The barkeep, though he clearly overheard everything, has disappeared into the kitchen and was not returning.
The look-alike’s directions lead straight south across the market to a blank, wooden structure straddling the line between the market and a secured residential district. All seems quiet, though a small group of guards are speaking to one another quietly out front in Skald.
Oksana will attempt to listen in on what the guards are saying.
Perception:
As you get closer, you see that behind the group of guards, the front door to the armoury is made of a heavy, thick wood and is bound by iron. At several points across the door, visible cracks and splintered wood can be seen. The battered door stands slightly ajar, opening inward to darkness.
The guards are discussing theories about who breached the armoury, and making plans to enter and find out what's happening inside.
Petronia looks at the cluster of guards as they approach, her grip firmly around Drong's arm. "That doesn't bode well. It suggests that Hjort and Runa managed to finish what they started. What are they saying?"
”They are talking about going inside to see what’s going on… or perhaps persuading themselves why it’s not their job to do either and rather stay out here where’s its nice and safe,” Matheus murmured back, adjusting the cloak he had stolen to hide the breastplate of transparent ice he had conjured to protect himself, going knowingly into combat as they were.
”I wonder if this’d be a time for a group of concerned citizen to rise to the occasion and offer their assistance?” he wondered aloud, then walked over without waiting for the others to answer him.
”Hej där, modiga soldater! the druid boomed. ” Något fel? Behöver du hjälp? Säg inte mer, långt skulle det vara för oss att vägra! Varför skickar du inte förstärkningar och tittar på dörren om missförståndet försöker fly medan vi rader ut skadedjuret från insidan. Inget behov av att tacka oss, det minsta vi kan göra för våra framstående försvarare! Inget behov av att tacka oss, det minsta vi kan göra för våra framstående försvarare!”
Without giving the surprised guards a chance to figure out what he was saying, the druid gestured fro the others to follow and led the way inside.
As they get nearer, the party notices that these guards are wearing different livery to the Stadsvakt, and though they carry similar weapons.
The guards draw weapons as Matheus and the others approach, but before they're able to contest their presence, Matheus' calm and confidant words wash over them like a soothing balm. After a brief whispered conversation, they agree, promising to guard the entrance until their commander arrives.
And just like that, they enter the armoury. The two-story building is windowless, and it is clear that Hjort and his crew doused the lights, for the interior is pitch black. Light from outside spills into a short hallway, which is strewn with bits of shattered wood and iron. Two curved, wooden staircases on either side of the door lead upstairs. Straight ahead of the hallway, the room seems to open up on either side into a large hall or common room of some sort. The light from the doorway does not penetrate far into this room, and whatever lays to either side is in darkness.
Ner dropped his unshorn sheepskin cloak like it was a cloud and stepped out of his padded over-pants and without a word slunk ahead. He kept to the right wall. His had been a nocturnal creature during the lone-times when he was a servant to the greenies and his body remembered a little of how to handle the dark ... though it didn't teach him to see. For that he relied on touching the wall, and he listened, listened like he was a brown owl.
Casting a light spell on a coin, Oksana then throws the coin into the dark room.
"There...that should help!"
Petronia moved towards the darkness, shifting into her wolfish form to allow her to see in the dark. She gives a low growl as Oksana tosses a lit coin into the room but quickly reminds herself that the woman is trying to be helpful and that the two other humans couldn't maneuver in the dark like she and Ner could. She cuts off her growl and then sticks to the deeper shadows in the room to see what dangers may be lurking. After all, there had to be a reason that Hjort and his men darkened the room.