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"STOP!" Lord Borak shouts as the fleas begin to scatter now that their dog is dead. "I have NOT received a reason why I was forced to kill this insolent pig and I would have his cohort give reason NOW!"
"You good people," he states, turning to those reasonable folk un-associated with Warmonger. "Please assist me with rounding up, detaining, and, hopefully, disarming this thronging mass of SHEEP so we might know why we have been inconvenienced thus. With your assistance, I should be able to avoid executing this detritus, much as it may the best thing for them."
That said, he goes about trying to do what he said, arresting and tying up the scattering throng, so he can question them more thoroughly on why his peace was so disturbed.
Thresu shrugs and pulls himself out of his seat and turns to his card game partners. "Looks like we'll have to put this game on hold, gents. Be right back."
He stands, revealing his one mechanical leg, and addresses everyone in the bar. "I'm not going to catch up with any of them on my own, but if someone wants me to tag along, I'm happy to help out in any way I can."
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** spoiler omitted **
As the war leader topples from the bullet lodged firmly in his guts, his pack of wasteland warriors begin to scatter like cockroaches. Fear grips their bowels and most void themselves in panic as their terrified minds search for escape.
Nian looks on, annoyed that he will now have to clean his floors. He sighs and asks "You want job? I pay good you take care of problem way you deal with that one."
Lord Borak takes a moment to turn to Nian. "If you would pay so well for merely taking out the trash, then, yes, that would be amenable. Pause a moment while I see to the consolidation."
True to his word, the Toxic Elemental consumes the biological remains of the formerly departed (leaving the metal items and clothing as they are not as tasty). By the time it decides to return from whence it came, the floor is much MUCH cleaner than when it got there. (Seriously, you could eat off that thing.)
"I know where the warehouse is that Warmonger used as his base. If his minions have scattered to the winds, we could make that our own base."
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Lord Borak sighs remorsefully as the chaff scatter to the four winds. "Hmmm. Alas. Could I have put them to the question I would have gained some satisfaction to my curiosity and their worthless lives could at least have ended in purpose.
Such a waste."
Returning to practicality, he goes to the leavings of his spirit and picks up the knives and shotgun, though the pistol seems beneath his notice and he leaves it for whomever might be interested.
"Hm, what is that, Flying Eagle? They have a base? Well, of course they do.
No, I have no interest in laying down in a mattress so recently used by dogs. As the good innkeeper has offered sanctuary, I am of mind to remain. In time they might come back in strength, and it will be easier for me to find them if I stay in one place.
Then I can eliminate them in one fell swoop and close the chapter properly.
If you good people would like to cleave to my mission, I can promise little save an adventure of a lifetime and loot to satisfy the dreams of Avarice.
If such things are precious to you."
"I've had adventure beaucoup already. Enough for a lifetime." Estelle remarks, popping back out from behind the bar, pleased for things to have been resolved without much bloodshed. "But what kind of loot are we talking about?"
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Lord Borak waves a hand dismissively. "Gold is but dross. But the body must be sustained. To begin there is the generous offer of employment by our innmaster," Borak regains his drink and toasts in the aforementioned man's direction. "That should sustain us in the interim.
But, as that flock of sheep sprinted for saftey, we could hear there vehicles running up. That means when they return, if we are prepared, not only will we have the personal affects of their corpses, but their means of transport as well. This will facilitate tracking them back to their lair and making the whole their things, ours.
The accumulated wealth of a large band of bandits, divided by our smaller numbers, should make for a rather comfortable grubstake, all told."
He takes an easy sip.
"So, bartender, what is this mission you have to offer us?"
Gavin looks around at the chaos, and carefully gathers up his cards, giving them a quick count before stashing them back in the oilskin bag in an inside pocket.
'Down to a single can of food, I do need the work.'
If the sludge deamon is gone and the shotgun is still on the floor the Syker wanders over and picks it up, listening to the bartender.
Thresu nods at Gavin's suggestion. "I am also low on food and would be happy to perform service to the town ... within reason, of course."
Nian smiles a nearly toothless grin at Eagle as he speaks,"Sound like you have idea on big time haul, but before there minor issue you do yes? Tribe of mutant, big chief many kids. Warmongers kind keep him from coming round, but he get wind of change soon enough. If someone stop him from being problem, I maybe know where prewar stash is. Part with information for chief heads, both them. Tribe live out in hills from where sun come." He points off in the general direction of the badlands to your east, a few days walk would find you near the hills as far as any of your can recon. "Good faith I provide trail ration." From under his counter he pulls a brown denim sack large enough to hold a few days rations for a posse such as yours, with any luck you may be able to ration and supplement long enough to make it stretch there and back if need be.
Thresu regards Nian suspiciously and tips back his hat.
He must think we're a bunch of chumps that will run off and do his dirty work for him without any proof that he can pay.
"How do we know that you can pay us? You say you know where the stash is, but can you prove it? A few trail rations is a nice start, but it's far from proof."
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Lord Borak did his best to follow the rambling patois of Nian, but in time he had to give it up as not being any language spoken by Man. Was Big Chief Many-Kids the name of the man they were supposed to kill? No, wait, now there are two that have heads. And why use a full sentence when simply saying 'East' would have sufficed?
Not wanting to insult someone with such rich information as a pre-war catch, he limits his questions to the most useful.
"Pause a moment, friend. There are two chiefs? What are their names and how will we know them?
And how are there two chiefs? Do they have some kind of a parliamentary anarchist-commune style of government?"
Nian smiles his tooth deprived grin once more, dead eyes focusing upon Thresu. "I only one, if no stash you big group come back make much trouble. That proof enough enough yes." Nian turns that grin on Borak as the question seems to confuse the man slighly. "cái bù ne mister! One chief, he just have two head. One big, one little."
Thresu shrugs and looks at the others. "Well, that makes, Nian. So how big of a stash is this? Enough to feed all of us for a week? Two weeks? A month?"
He must think I'm an idiot, if he doesn't think I'm going to bargain with him.
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"Ah. Not unlike an ettin from the old tales. No doubt another maladaption of the waste." Lord Borak nods, satisfied with the answer.
'What an idiot, trying to bargain after we've been given foodstuffs in good faith,' he thinks, looking askance at Thresu. What he says is, "Peace, friend Thresu, peace.
As the man says, he is but a humble shopkeep. If we go through the inconvenience of slaying his competition, and then we go to an appointed destination, but find little more than crumbs for rats, he would be assured that we would return here--for he does not seem to be going anywhere--and he would share the same fate as the corpse on his floor."
Borak gesture minutely at the spot where a dead man once lay but is now eaten clean.
"I propose calling it a night, and venturing out at first light, to end a future so we may brighten our own."
He lifts his drink in salute.
"I agree" Flying Eagle simply says, and heads towards a room with a bed.
Estelle keeps quiet for most of the deliberations, studying her new companions. For a few moments, she wonders about going off on her own, but the realisation that she has found no history, and is dangerously low on supplies ends that train of thought quickly. It wasn't likely she could make it very far. And who knows what kinds of things the warlords might be harbouring. When she thought about it, there was really no decision to be made at all. "Agreed."
Flying Eagle sleeps fitfully, looking forward to killing mutants...
Nian continues, hopefully answering Thresu's to his satisfaction.
"Old grey uniform army stash. I no can get in, but you resourceful get doors open. No one touch stash, all others know where is dead. I help build roads before bombs drop. Road not there now, but Nian still know where is."
Nian waves the party off in the early morn. The supply sack he handed you has enough old canned goods and dried jerky to give each of you four days worth of rations without scrounging or hunting, longer if you can stretch it. A low warm wind blows in from the south and the smell of stagnant ghost rock water fills the air.
Flying Eagle keeps a sharp lookout for creatures, humanoid or otherwise.
Thresu agrees to the conditions Nian presents and then finds a safe corner to bed down in for the night.
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In the morning he wakes early and thanks Nian for the canned goods before talking to the innkeep to see if he can get any more detailed directions than "head east to the hills" and can learn anything more specific about these mutates.
"So why you want these mutates dead? They attacked you? They attack others? What kind of shenanigans do they get up to?"
Nian looks to Thresu with dead glassy eyes. "Tribe cause many problems. Take food. Take slaves. Burn down town round here. Used to be many people, all gone now except old Nian. Stayed away because warmonger come through, but now no protection there." To the question of better directions. "Follow dry river bed east to hills. Tribe make home there somewhere. Look for hung men."
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Lord Borak arises neither early nor late. He wakes and makes his preparations as if the sun itself is his servant, and it is only right that it should put on its best display for his pleasure.
At the description of the evils that has befallen the town, he nods. "I know of this ilk. They put on airs of importance, and think slaying merchants and farmers gives them power. Alas, history shows such feeble men are not long for this world. Only be cultivating the lessor folk and making them give a portion of their wealth willingly is true power achieved.
One can not pay you taxes when dead. 'Tis bad for business.
Well let us be about it. In our own way, we make the world better, like cutting out a cancer."
Thresu thanks the man for the additional information and directions and then leans over the bar.
"Say, you wouldn't have a long gun you can lend me, Mr. Nian? I've got these pistols," he says briefly lifting up his coat to show them to the innkeeper, "but they aren't much good at long distance shooting."
"Wouldn't bet on it," Estelle remarks to Thresu, speaking for the first time all morning, despite the preparations. "Ol' Nian here's a Harrowed. If the legends are true, he's got more power'n the rest of us put together." Saying so, she glances at Nian, wondering how he'll react, and why he wasn't embarking on this mission himself.
Once they set out, Estelle keeps pace with the others, intermittently staring at the sun to gauge the time they're making. She wanted to move quickly, but not have them arrive already exhausted. Having your blood pumping was good. Having it pumping out of holes you got riddled with wasn't.
Gavin musters with the rest the next morning and without saying much follows along, once out in the weather he will pullout a well used military bucket hat and pull it on over the beanie already on his head.
Nian shakes his head at Thresu. "No gun. But, I just got bullets last nights. You want bullet?"
As the party nears the hills further they notice what appear to be loan figures upon the horizon. They stand still and seem to have either not seen you, or taken no notice of you.
Thresu will accept Nian's bullets if they are the correct caliber for any of the group's guns and pistols.
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Seeing the figure, Thresu drops to the ground and shields his eyes with his tri-corner hat to see if he can discern anything unusual about it. He motions for the others to follow his lead.
Flying Eagle follows Thresu's lead and drops to the ground.
= 9, a Raise
Gavin scans the figure as well.
Estelle follows suit, dropping low towards the ground and surveying the figures on the hill, trying to get a sense of how many there are and what they are up to.
The rest of the party can not make out an discernible facts nor features at this range.
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"Whatever they are, they have a poor tactical placing for scouts. Their distance from each other will preclude support."
Lord Borak slowly and regally rises. "Let us sweep to the North. If they are with our quarry, we can come down on their flank and eliminate them piecemeal. If not, they will let us pass by."
Thresu motions for Lord Borak to remain hidden, although he is beginning to realize that this might be a futile effort.
"Flank?" he loudly whispers. "Who should do the frontal attack and who should do the flanking?"
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Lord Borak makes a sound. It is the sound a planet makes when it sees its star going supernova.
"We are not advancing en echelon, we are simply moving oblique to their line, as we do not know if they are hostile yet.
And I would not split our forces in any case. We have the greater strength, so to hit them with a closed fist would carry the day."
It's unsure exactly who is encompassed by the 'we'.
"They seem to be...dancing, or maybe swaying, in place. I say we just keep our eyes on them, and continue to the east. They are far enough away that they probably can't do us any harm."
"Inebriation is a possibility." Estelle replies. "For a moment it crossed my mind that they may be dead, fastened to structures and swaying in the wind. Perhaps as a warning..." She involuntarily shudders, thinking that she's been out here too long. "We should keep moving."
"Watchers, wastrels or Warnings, I agree lets keep our distance. Gavin focuses on his boots, step, step, step, trying to keep the memories at bay.
The posse skirts around the hills and avoids the direct approach through the watchful gaze of the strange figures. Giving them a wide berth you circle around for a mile, but every hill seems to have one swaying back and forth with every errant breeze. Another mile and another for good measure and you have circled back to where you began. You find no way to avoid these figures, but at least you now know how far this tribes territory stretches.
"I suspect that when we examine them more closely, we will find that they are dead, and are hung out as a warning against trespassing."