Grevayne clears his throat awkwardly and takes several steps away. "I, uh. I am good. Thank you."
Oona shakes her head at Aubrin's likely confused expression and raises a hand. "Long story. I'll explain later. Needless to say, he has... an unusual condition, say. But don't worry, I grilled him pretty hard and I think we can trust him."
Aubrin's eyes narrow briefly, then she shrugs. "Very well." She grasps her holy symbol and begins to pray. Bursts of holy energy erupt from her several times, until everyone's wounds have fully healed. She opens her eyes and immediately looks at Katia, whose state is unchanged. Aubrin frowns. "This is troubling. I will need to pray on it." She looks up at the party, who is watching intently. "Go! Get some rest. You have done everything you can. We will talk when you wake."
Mac whimpers and licks Katia's hand, before padding off to curl up on her bedroll. He sniffs her pillow once before resting his massive head on his forepaws.
Oona goes and sits by the wolf, stroking his head, then lies against him. No harm in using Katia's bedroll tonight; she'll be with Aubrin anyway, and she doesn't have the heart to move Mac regardless. Despite the fear and anxiety rushing like acid through her veins, her exhaustion overtakes all else, and she falls asleep immediately.
Grevayne finds an open spot to roll out his bedroll and sits on it cross-legged, watching the refugees curiously. They don't look like fighters. How in the Hells did they survive out here? Was it purely on the skill of the two women? Well, and the other one. It sounded like she helped in the battle. He supposes he could try to meditate on it, but really, what use in trying? He's never managed it before. Stupid masters at the monastery with their utterly infuriating level of calm. He sighs and lies back. He isn't tired; he's been sleeping on and off for who knows how long. He is weak, though. He hasn't eaten in days. He considers asking for food, then decides against it. He's not sure how far he trusts these people yet. It seems awfully convenient that they were out here and two (well three, apparently; five if you count the animals) managed to take out fifteen? He doesn't buy it yet.
He digs in his pack and is shocked to find his rations still there. He digs one out and munches on beef jerky and dried fruit, staring at the ceiling and ruminating on the night's odd turn of events. He glances down at the spiderweb of wounds just creeping out from under the collar of his mithral shirt. That's probably going to scar. Ah, well. Add it to the thousand other scars, he supposes.
Freyja thanks Aubrin for her healing of Trjega. She leads Trjega to the pool in the northern cavern and cleans the blood out of her fur, whispering under her breath to the lynx and weeping softly. Eventually she just falls to her knees in the water and buries her face in Trjega's fur. After a few minutes, she pulls back, wipes the tears away, and washes her face in the water.
She returns to her bedroll, opens her pack, and pulls out a small item. She walks over to where Rhyna is watching over Katia, opens one of Katia's hands, and places the item in it. She stands and looks at Katia for a brief moment, then returns to her bedroll and falls asleep almost immediately.
Rhyna watches Freyja walk away, then turns her attention to what Katia is now holding. She can't see what it is, other than that it is small and made from wood.
It's none of your business, Rhyna.
She resumes her watch over the woman, cooling her forehead with a cloth and cleaning blood from the many puncture wounds, but her eyes keep drifting back to the witch's hands. Finally, she can take the curiosity no more. She glances around to see if anyone is watching, then opens Katia's hand and turns the item over.
It is a small wooden rectangle with a carving on one side. It is clearly unfinished -- and, if Rhyna is being completely honest, it's not very good -- but she can make out what is meant to be a busty halfling holding a baby with horns. Rhyna's brow furrows in confusion. She starts to take a closer look but hears a sound behind her and quickly returns Katia's hands to their original position and resumes her duties.
------------
If undisturbed, you probably would all have slept well into the evening, but, even as large as these caverns are, privacy is not a luxury any of you have. You are awakened by the bustle of people around you in the early afternoon.
Oona spends the majority of the day in rest and contemplation, spending some time in the evening working on her new trick with Mac, coming at him from multiple sides with a pillow and trying to get him to duck on command. Mostly it ends with the wolf taking a sack of feathers to the face and barking playfully. If nothing else, it drives the thought of her comatose friend from her mind for a bit.
Grevayne doesn't sleep well. His dreams are fitful, plagued by memories of huge bugbear fists slamming into his gut. His training with Wu taught him to take a hit, but it doesn't matter how tough you are. Getting gut-socked with a fist the size of a small water barrel hurts.
It doesn't help that there are so damn many people here. It's been years since he slept anywhere near another person, and so many in proximity is giving him serious agoraphobia. He decides to head down the ladder and take a look at the lower floor. Somewhere nearby, he can hear the clang of hammer on anvil as the dwarf woman works. What was her name? Kinder? Kindy?
He stops short at the statue and stares for several moments, appreciating the craftsmanship.
"Weird bastard, yeah?" He mutters to the statue. "That is okay. I am a weird bastard, too. I know how you feel." He sits down and leans against the statue. "I dream of being cured, sometimes. Being normal. Not cringing at the morning's rays. Not shirking from a priest's healing touch. Not being overcome with agony at the sound of a bell. But I mean, look at this place. They cower in this cave instead of facing their foe head-on. Yes, suicide. Of course it is. That is what I mean. They do not face their foes head-on because they cannot. They have no power. That is normal. In the face of that, I think I am okay not being normal."
He twists the iron ring on his right forefinger absently, ruminating for several moments. Finally he springs to his feet and pats the statue. "Good talk." He heads back up the ladder to find some food. His stomach shrank in captivity and dried beef and fruit was all he dared to eat last night. Now he's ready to devour a whole wild boar. Patience. Small meals today. Bigger meals tomorrow. He growls along with his stomach; he's very bad at patience.
Freyja spends about half the day hunting, but after all the death of the day before, she has a hard time causing even more. Eventually, she gives up and returns home to train Trjega.
She and Trjega have made great progress, and Freyja was encouraged by how well Trjega fought in the hob camp. She thinks that today is the day to run Trjega through her final test before she moves on to other commands.
She searches the camp until she finds Oona training Mac. "Hello. Terribly sorry to interrupt, but I am going to take Trjega through her final test today and we could use some of Magdh's luck if you can spare it."
Oona smiles and nods, touching Freyja's shoulder. "Of course. The Three will smile on your efforts."
Freyja and Trjega finish their training for the day, and Freyja is quite pleased with how it went. She thinks that Trjega's previous master must have taught her to attack because the training went much more smoothly than she expected. After training, she spends an hour playing with the lynx, then gives her a nice meal of fish and rice in celebration.
After what seems like forever, Trjega's master finally understands how to ask Trjega to kill something. This shouldn't be this difficult.
Trjega eats her fish, then retires to Freyja's bedroll to bathe herself and snooze by the fire.
Mac continues to play with his favorite rock-human, prancing around, nipping at the fluffy whomper. Suddenly, she yells "Down!" and something clicks. He drops his head as if prostrating, wolf butt sticking up in the air, and the pillow sails overhead. "Good boy!" she says, ruffling the fur on his muzzle. He chuffs once and leans into the pets.
Grevayne watches from a small ways off as the two... rangers?... train their companions, a strange blend of emotions running across his face. What an odd thing to revel in, training a pet. On the other hand, he can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Wu wasn't quite so condescending during their sparring matches, but there was a time when he reveled in the old man's praise, too. That was twenty years ago. Surely the old man is dead by now. The thought doesn't sadden him, so much as make him feel very, very tired. He squints irritably at the setting sun and returns to the relative dimness of the caverns.
Jet has spent the day preparing a special celebration feast, using all of the best foods and drinks you've managed to gather over the past few weeks. The mood around camp is electric. During dinner, the refugees press the party to talk about their victory at the hobgoblin camp. They are enthralled by the story and amazed that the group managed to take down 17 opponents. Everyone in the party has been feeling various degrees of guilt and sadness at the loss of Katia during the battle, but the refugees' enthusiasm and gratitude help you realize that her sacrifice was in pursuit of an incredible accomplishment: you have eliminated the immediate and imminent threat on the camp. At the very least, you have bought yourself a good deal of time to go in search of the Chernasardo Rangers and possibly other allies to assist in striking back against the Ironfang Legion.
Your legend grows.
-----------
Near the end of the meal, Aubrin stands. She is uncharacteristically sober, given the celebratory nature of the meal. She raises her mug. "A toast. To our heroes! Oona!" A cry of "Oona!" goes up from the crowd and everyone drinks. "Freyja!" The same. "Katia!" The cry this time is more subdued, but only barely. Someone in the group asks about Katia's condition. Aubrin's face grows grim. "She is alive and her injuries have been healed. She is able to swallow, so we can keep her alive. But I do not know why she will not awaken. I do not want to give anyone false hope: this condition may be permanent. But if it can be cured, Cayden will guide my hand." She trails off, then shakes her head. She turns her gaze to Grevayne and raises her mug again. "And we have a new friend! To Grevayne!" To say he gets half the cheer of the others would be generous, but everyone still drinks to his name.
Aubrin holds up a hand. Everyone quiets and gives her their attention. "I've been thinking we need to give our new home a name. We all know that we will be here for some time, and our friends here have made it much safer for us to do so. My suggestion is Misthome. Does anyone else have any ideas?"
"Woof," suggests Mac.
Oona raises an eyebrow at Mac. "No no, takes to long to say."
She chuckles at her own joke. "I rather like Hearthstone. It's a cave after all, and Kining's forge is as fine a hearth as any I've seen." She raises a mug to the dwarf.
Grevayne listens to the different suggestions and, much to his own surprise, pipes up. "What about Sanctum? It has religious connotations, and you two" he waves his mug in the general direction of Oona and Aubrin "seem to be of a religious bent. Plus if anywhere has been a godsent sanctuary, it is this place." He shrugs and continues sipping his beer.
A look of surprise crosses Kining's face ever so briefly, but she catches herself and scoffs. "Flattery ain't gonna save you no money." She downs her mug in one swig and gets up to fetch more ale.
Aubrin laughs. "Shut the f~@@ up, Kining! Oona is right; it is a fine forge, and you do fine work. And Hearthstone is a fine name, I think. All in favor?" Over 30 mugs raise into the air. "Then Hearthstone it is! To Hearthstone!" A cheer erupts from the crowd.
The celebration continues; it has been a long time since anyone here has felt anything resembling hope, and everyone eats a bit too much and drinks a bit lot too much. Aubrin tells some of her famous stories, Jet leads an impromptu sing-along, and you even catch Kining laughing a time or two. Several times throughout the night, you see couples -- some of which were not couples before tonight -- slip off to find some privacy. Clearly everyone here has needed this.
Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, the last of you drift off to sleep. And whether assisted by the alcohol or not, you all sleep peacefully, if only for one night.
You all awaken to the smells of bacon cooking and coffee brewing. Your splitting headaches and cottonmouths are almost as grateful to Jet this morning as you were last night.
You make your way to the mess and are surprised to find Aubrin, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, sipping coffee and looking over crude maps of the area. She sees you groggily shuffling in, says, "Ah! You're up," and retrieves coffee for everyone. She lets you get some coffee into you before she begins talking. "What you all have accomplished is nothing short of miraculous. You have given us -- given me! -- hope. And I believe you deserve a break. You've been going hard every single day for weeks. You dealt a massive blow that the hobs will take some time to recover from. I will take some of the more hardy folks out with me on scouting expeditions. I think you should recuperate for the next few days, maybe even a week. What do you say?"
Oona nods gratefully and sips her coffee with a glassy, far-off look.
For the first few days, Oona is glad for the respite. She visits Katia several times a day initially, but as it becomes more apparent that the witch is not going to miraculously wake up, she finds it harder and harder to go to her side.
She spends her time training with Mac, hoping to take her mind off of things, but it rarely helps. After four days, she takes to walks around the perimeter of the cave, and then walks further afield, until on the fifth day she finds herself a good mile away from Hearthstone, taking in the fresh air, fingers dug deep into Mac's fur as she scratches behind his ear. The wolf is nearly up to her shoulders now. She has no idea how much growing he has left to do, or where this growth spurt even came from. Divine providence, she supposes. McAnally was a gift from The Three, after all. The Three will know when he's the right size.
She clasps her cloak a little tighter about her against the autumn breeze. It's nearly mid-Lamashan, and the Fangwood's days are rapidly cooling. The moon's not out yet, but she knows a waxing half moon awaits behind the bright blue sky, the chasing clouds, and the thick canopy of leaves overhead. It's hard not to picture Katia cutting through the branches, flying free and fierce across the battlefield to rain magic down on her enemies. Why didn't you see your power, girl? she thinks, not for the first time and certainly not the last. Why did you not see how mighty you were? Why did you despair? Is that what caused... this? This state? Why?
She growls and whips out her bow, loosing three arrows one after another into a tree several yards away. Only one strikes its target; the other two sail off into the forest. She curses thickly in Terran before stomping off to go look for them. She finds one of the arrows, but after several infuriating minutes searching for the second, she gives it up as lost and walks back to Mac, grumbling under her breath. When she returns, however, Mac isn't alone.
The big wolf is hunched down, hackles raised. His teeth aren't bared yet, but he looses a low, burbling growl of warning at the newcomer. Grevayne stands nearby, linen-wrapped arms raised in a sign of surrender. Oona sighs and crosses her arms. "Mac doesn't like you. I usually take his advice."
Mac emphasizes the statement with a sudden, loud bark that echoes off the trees. He still doesn't bare his teeth, though. Rock-human seems to think the rot-smell-human isn't a threat, and he trusts her. That doesn't mean he has to like him.
Grevayne gives the dog an annoyed glance, but doesn't lower his arms. Doesn't move at all, actually. He's pretty good at that. "I am glad you are so trusting of each other," he says, "but would you mind terribly, er...?" He nods meaningfully at the mutt.
Oona considers the dhampir for several seconds before calling, "Mac, come." She's pleased to discover the wolf obeys her immediately, though he never quite takes his eyes off the magus.
Grevayne exhales and puts his arms down. "Xièxiè," he says, crossing his thickly-muscled arms and leaning against a nearby tree. The sun coming in through the canopy makes him squint. My kingdom for smoked goggles, he thinks irritably.
"Normally, I would say you should listen to your dog friend. I, ah... tend to attract trouble. But in this case, I am glad you did not listen. I would have starved to death in that hob camp. I do not know if I ever thanked you properly for saving me. So... thank you."
Oona leans slightly against her bow. "I still don't know if I made the right decision or not. You're a strange creature, Grevayne, and I don't like strange. I hope you prove me wrong."
Grevayne rolls his eyes. "I do not have to prove anything to you, lady. I have spent my entire life being told I need to prove that I am trustworthy, by people who turned out not to be trustworthy themselves. Yet I am singled out simply because of what I am. You think I chose to be a half-breed abomination? No. But it is what I am and I live with it. So if you think I am going to traipse about throwing myself at your feet, begging for your acceptance, you are as arrogant as you are stupid."
He turns to leave, then pauses. "And by the way, a rock-woman telling a half-vampire he is strange is absolutely f~~*ing bat-s*%+." He bares his fanged teeth in some cross between a smile and a grimace, then stalks off toward Hearthstone.
Oona watches with gritting teeth behind tightly-closed lips as Grevayne walks away. Unbelievable! An abomination of nature, telling her, a herald of the First World, that she's the arrogant one??
"That," Oona says to Mac, "is a grade A a*~*!+&. We should have just slit his throat and left him with the rest of the hob carcasses." Mac whines plaintively in response, perhaps concerned with this new, dark turn in Oona's mood, or perhaps begging for the piece of jerky she has in her belt pouch. She takes a shot in the dark that it's the latter and tosses the dried meat to him, which he snatches out of the air and chews on with great industry and vigor. Oona shakes her head. "Come on, boy, let's go home." She hesitates for a moment, though she's unsure why. No, that's not true; she knows why, she's just embarrassed by it. She doesn't want to risk catching up to Grevayne and having to see him again. Impressive biceps or no, she's not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her angry.
After a few minutes of rumination, she scowls and makes her way back to Hearthstone.
Freyja spends the week working with Trjega, teaching the lynx to defend her without having to give a specific command. She also enlists Oona and Grevayne's help in teaching Trjega to defend specific allies that Freyja indicates. Trjega picks it up quickly, again suggesting that she has had this training before.
She also spends at least an hour at Katia's side each day, helping Aubrin and Rhyna with whatever they need. She watches Katia's face intently as she talks to her, looking for any sign of recognition.
Kining approaches Freyja on the second day carrying an unusual-looking set of armor. "It's a hundred gold," Kining says in her most charming voice. Freyja pays her and then Kining helps her fit it to Trjega. Trjega decidedly does not like it at first, but having a full week to train her with the armor helps her grow accustomed to it. After seeing how hurt Trjega got in her first battle, having some extra protection helps Freyja feel much better.
Freyja asks Kining to tear down one of the sets of leather armor they found and fashion a training harness for Trjega.
The week is relatively uneventful. Aubrin and Rhyna watch over Katia and help people with minor illnesses and injuries. Jet builds an impressive improvised smoker for curing and preserving meats. Kining remains her brusque self, but having a functional forge has improved her mood considerably. The other refugees keep busy gathering fragrant herbs to combat the lingering mushroom and troglodyte smell in the caves, building homemade furniture, and training for combat.
------
Aubrin keeps her word and goes out scouting with the twin half-elves. They learn several interesting things:
- Phaendar has been transformed into an outpost of sorts for the Ironfang Legion. Half of the structures have been torn down, their wood used to build a palisade that rings the entire town. The enormous black tower that appeared out of nowhere is still there. Many of the former residents are held in town as slaves, and there are at least a hundred Legion troops of various goblinoid races.
- There appears to be no attempt to replace the Legion presence in the Fangwood. So far. The only hobs they saw venturing on this side of the river were infrequent patrols and supply convoys, and they each only kept to the road.
- Aubrin specifically looked for any sign of the Chernasardo Rangers. She didn't necessarily expect to find anything -- they are famously good at not being found if they do not wish it -- but she is troubled that they seem to have no presence whatsoever in the wood. She knows that there are three strongholds somewhere in these woods; her only suggestion is to look "north".
------
On day 24, Novvi returns and asks the guards at the Darklands tunnel for Oona. A guard finds you and Freyja and you descend to the ruins to speak with her.
"Ah! The oread still lives! But where is the witch?"
Oona does her best to keep her face stony. "She... fell ill, I'm afraid." She clears her throat. "What do you have for us?"
Grevayne, curious about the sudden to-do and bored out of his wits, decides to follow the other two to see what the fuss is about. He glances from the svirfneblin to the oread then back, then crosses his arms and leans against the wall to watch the exchange.
Novvi's hand goes to her chest. "Oh sweet Nivi, that poor girl!" To her credit, she seems genuinely concerned. "I do hope she recovers soon. In the meantime, shall we do some business? I managed to track down about half of the materials you were looking for, and I got my hands on a set of magical chainmail. I have my people out tracking down the remaining materials and a scythe. Scythes are quite uncommon in the Darklands. Not a lot of farmers down there. So I am having one made for you. I hope to have it and the other items in hand in a week or two."
Oona clears her throat. "About the crafting materials. Katia was the crafter. She's... no longer coherent. I'm afraid we have no one to use them now..." She trails off, waiting with bated breath to see Novvi's reaction.
Grevayne stands up straight and intercedes. "Buy them. I will use them." At Oona's incredulous look, he nods. "I will use them."
Oona searches his face momentarily, then shrugs and turns back to Novvi. "I stand corrected. We will be needing them after all."
She gathers a massive collection of items to sell. "We have the following in tradestuffs, plus some gems and art that may fetch a fine price to the right buyer."
Novvi's face darkens as Oona suggests that you may not want the crafting materials, then relaxes into a smile when Grevayne confirms that you will still take them. She takes what you have on offer, hands over the materials and the armor, and you complete the transaction. "Anything else besides the scythe and the remaining materials?"
Oona shakes her head. "That is all for now. Thank you, Novvi. See you next week."
She gathers the items and takes them away with a small bow. After Novvi has returned to the Darklands, she asks, "Can you actually use any of these crafting materials?"
Grevayne snorts. "Gods, no. But you were about to lose what appeared to be your only source of commerce in this forest. Besides, it cannot hurt to have them around. I may be able to pick up the craft some day. Either way, you were in no position not to purchase what you promised." He winks and saunters off to find some alcohol to drown the boredom with.
In the week since you conquered the hobgoblin camp, the weather has grown noticeably cooler. The immense layer of rock between the caves and the elements keep Hearthstone consistently comfortable, but it won't be long before anyone venturing outdoors will need cold weather gear.
There has been no change in Katia's condition.
Kining approaches Freyja with the completed training harness. "Five gold." Always a charmer, that one. She asks Oona and Grevayne if there is anything you need made.
Jet brings you a bunch of the first batch of deer jerky that she made. "Let me know how it is! It's my first try."
Your week of rest has come to an end. What do you do?
Throughout the week, Grevayne has become increasingly restless and agitated. He even took to helping out with chores a couple times; there was no altruism in it, he just got sick of sitting around staring at walls. On the plus side, it--and the regular source of food--has quickly helped him regain his strength from the malnutrition, and he almost feels up to his old self again. But that means his restless feet are ready to go.
He's avoided too much conversation with his new compatriots--Oona especially--but now he goes up to Oona and Freyja practically bouncing on his toes. "Can we leave, please? I do not care where we go. I just need to move. Being stowed away like grain is not for me."
Oona looks unamused. "How shocking." She turns to Freyja. "But it probably is about time we get back to looking for the Chernesardo. Let's head north and see what there is to see. And as much as I hate to admit it, Grevayne actually has a good idea. Let's range a little farther this time. We'll take two days' rations for each of us and head out."