Test post.
Pawprint!
Snap!
”So, what do y’all say to helpin’ out me, helpin’ out the town, with a problem or two?”
Old Pete sighs, and leans back into his chair, the old wooden seat creaking as he does so. The last few months had been hard on him, hell, hard on everybody. Crops failing, water supplies going bad, vicious animals, mutant attacks, and most recently raiders.
The town’s scouts had narrowed down the source to a small camp in a box canyon about a day and a half’s ride from town along the road to Exchange. About a dozen raiders permanently resided there with their leader, a ruthless dwarf woman named Svedka.
”If y’all are up to it, I’d like that camp to be dealt with. I can’t offer much, 400 to each of y’all, but I’m certain that the raiders have some damn good loot stashed away. You’ll have first rights to whatever you’d like to claim.”
Sprig was quick to agree. "Ah'm always lookin' to help out th' community, Pete. Consider it done. Raiders are jes' bad for business."
The smaller lizard-man spoke with a bit of an accent, like he'd learned Common from some real backwaters. Being an outlander certainly didn't help with his pronunciation either.
"In fact, Pete, if yer willing' to put in a good word for me in Exchange," Sprig let out a good natured chuckle before continuing, "I'd be happy t' let you keep my share of the money, put it towards keepin' th' town runnin' proper-like."
The kobold smiles as well as any crocodile, which might appear less friendly then the small lizard intends. But for all his shortcomings, he spoke with the confidence of a man four times his size.
Casey looks to Pete as if in thought, working the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. Looking off into the distance as he takes a deep breath, he stares a moment before turning back to Pete. "I'm in. Any idea how many we're talkin' about in this camp?"
The town’s scouts had narrowed down the source to a small camp in a box canyon about a day and a half’s ride from town along the road to Exchange. About a dozen raiders permanently resided there with their leader, a ruthless dwarf woman named Svedka.
Brindle seemed to think Pete might be able to help her, in some way or another. Brother Jackal didn't seem to reside in the hearts of these myriad folk, but they faced the same problems her own did back in the tribeland. Mutation. Scarcity. Disease. Death. Her snout rises an inch as if testing a metaphorical wind.
"I yam Brimndall. I...am...strong, quick, survive the dirt. I will help Old Pete." the gnoll offered, her lips and teeth working hard to enunciate ideation into words. She looks brightly at each of you, as if searching for something.
Pete chuckles a bit at Sprig, ”Heh, always lookin’ for a deal. Well, I don’t know how much pull I have in Exchange, but I’ll see what I can do.”
His face then sombers a bit when he turns to Casey, ”Well, as I said, there’s about a dozen there, give or take a few. There’s some raider crews that stop through there every so ofte, so there may well be more.”
He frowned. How could he not, he had been pretty sure why he was asked to stop by Pete's place the day before. After all the raiders had attacked. He did his best to keep to himself really didnt stop the dirty looks he recieved from the folk around here. Maybe stopping these raiders would help that stop.
He blinked at the white furred creature. A gnoll by the looks of her. His head pulled back and he blinked just a moment as she spoke to old Pete... pretty clearly too. Took all kinds he supposed, and he also figured it shouldnt surprise him. After all he had worked with Sprig before, and he was a kobold.
"I suppose I could go as well Pete. My uh... past experiences with bandits might help us get the drop on them I guess."
Saraon stands near the back of the group, listening silently as Old Pete explains the situation, blue-green eyes almost seem to glitter as they stare out from the imposing mask carved in the shape of a great black dragon's face.
"I'm with you too. Scythe down the weeds so they do not choke out the wheat, thus do we protect the health of the field," he intones. Then he rubs the back of his neck. "The field is High Gulch, which will survive more easily without the raiders choking it, in case I was being too subtle," he adds, slightly sheepishly.
He waves to Brindle after she introduces herself.
"A merry meeting, Brindle. I am Saraon, the Duskdragon and druid of the Halcyon Circle."
Brindle's eyes squint, her mind racing to understand the elfin man's words.
"Sharayon." she says, one eye wider than the other. She tries again, lips receding in an almost comical leer.
"Syaryon. Dushkdragon. Well met. " The gnoll smiles, a wild toothy grin that fades almost as suddenly.
"The land criez in pain, and Brother Jackal hearz it. Perhapz the Halshion Shirkle and Brother Jackal can mend what izh broken." she says, eyes earnest.
"Then we are kindred spirits, for we both hear this old and broken world's pain, and the will to soothe it. I think we'll get along very well, Brindle!"
Then he turns to the rest of the band.
"As for the rest of you, I think I know a few of you from encounters in the wastes..."
Casey looks around at them all in a nonchalant way for a moment before, "Nope. Don't know any a you. I'd sure remember if I did. Name's Jayne. Casey Jayne. Now that we're all acquainted, probably best we leave now while we still got daylight burnin'," he states as a matter of fact.
As Brindle looked at Sprig he returned her gaze with a small thumbs up.
When introductions are being made, the kobold speaks up as well. "Ah'm Sprig Snaggletooth, glad t' make your acquaintance! Though I'm not unfamiliar t' some of yah, Ah greet y'all the same as brothers in claw. Some fellas call me 'Big Sprig' on account of my size, but is all the same t' me."
The kobold holds out a claw to shake hands, first to Bas on account of their familiarity, then to the others. "It's good to see you again Bas, always good t' see a friendly face." The little lizard has that crocodile smile again.
Brindle takes the proffered clasp and nods to Sprig seriously.
"Caysh...Casey iz right. We shiuld leave now while the daystar shines."
"Indeed. Hit them quick and hard, when they least expect it, like a wildcat lying in wait to pounce!" Saraon replies, putting a fist in his palm. "Who'll scout ahead, so we can plan our attack?"
"I can travel far, fast, quiet. Find their tribe. We can snare them." Brindle replies simply.
"Well, how about this? Ah happen t' own a rather nice covered wagon. If we offload th' valuables, Ah think ah can easily fit th' lot of us. We bait some of th' raiders out, then we ambush 'em. Cut down their number a little 'fore we head for the main camp. Y'all jes' say th' word and I'll get my boys on it." The kobold rather proudly proclaims. He puffs up like a preening bird at the mention of his caravan.
"No thanks, I got my own horse. Offer's much appreciated though," he says, nodding.
Brindle nods, but seems hesitant to either ride or take a mount.
"Well, have it that way then. I suppose I can 'elp yew scout Brahmdall, taint' none as quiet as a kobold. Ye'd have t' be my eyes tho'. Ah can't see too well in this daylight." The kobold crosses his arms, a bit put out but still willing to help. It isn't long before the smile returns to Sprig's face.
"Ah, Pete. You know I'll help. You wouldn't have called me in if you didn't know you could count on that. Raiders this time, eh? Must be a bit smaller than that group three decades back, or we'd be seeing more of a build-up to take them on."
Ralrae looks around at the group, realizing that his own ... slight... height isn't quite as out of place as it could be - there are others here just as short. When Sprig makes the offer of a ride in a wagon, he zeroes in on him immediately. "Sprig, I'll happily join you on your wagon. I've my own transport if needed, but it's.. taxing... to maintain for a day and a half. "
He looks around once more, recalling the various phrasings they had taken in offering their support. "Well, I don't know anything about weeds, and the world needs a bit of pain if you ask me - how else would you be able to value a lack of it? But there's no value to a raider. And I'm not one for second chances when their first chance was blown on shootin' at me. I'm with you all."
Brindle's ears waver as she listens to the horned man. She doesn't really understand the nuances, but it is clear Ralrae joins them. The gnoll nods to the tiefling and heads out in front.
"Well then I won't mind saving my legs a bit with riding. I wouldnt get too close to their camp, if they are the paranoid sort of bandit, they will have traps set up."
He offered to Brindle. He spoke calmly, hell he looked like he was calm. On the inside though his stomach was a knot of emotions. He had always helped defend the town when the raiders came, this... this felt different though. Wasn't anything wrong with defending yourself when attacked, but if he.. if he went through this it felt like he was walking away from that path forever. He nodded to no one really as he set his mind to it.
The party convenes at Sprig's wagon and meet the three caravan guard the kobold has hired. One is exceptionally tall and wields a rifle. He nods at the party. The second is about medium height, carrying a longsword. She introduces herself as Lefty, and the tall one as Bill. The last one is short enough that they might be confused with a dwarf but holds an enormous battleaxe. He smiles and introduces himself and Tall Bill.
The party sets out of High Gulch. The day is, as is common in the Barrens, hot and dry, the sun blazing overhead. The path down through the Serpent's Spine is a long and twisty one but its a road that many in the part have traveled before.
Half a day passes before something breaks the monotony of the worn dirt road to Exchange. It is a brightly colored wagon pulled by a five-legged ox, a sign on the side boldly reading Bertha's Fine Meats.
Sprig was, as always, in the driver's seat. The sun beating down on him was an annoyance, but staying on the road wasn't that difficult even with the glare. Once he caught sight of the Bertha's caravan though, Sprig pulled his wagon aside and allowed the other to pass.
"Howdy there, traveler! How's the road on ahead? I'm haulin' some coffee if yer lookin' to trade! Got some citrus too, scurvy's a hell of a thing." Reading the sign on the other wagon was all it took to excite Sprig. As he talked he imagined biting into a fresh cut of meat and couldn't stop himself from closing his jaw with a snap!
Prestidigitation
Chameleon Scales
Open/Close
Mending
Level 1
Grease
Expeditious Excavation (x2)
Reduce Person
Level 2
Create Pit (x2)
Saraon seats himself in the wagon and watches as they travel and his eyes widen when he sees the meat wagon.
"Huh! That's a new one. Hasn't been a trader selling meat on the road since that preacher...Jack, I think his name was...went insane and just drove his wagon towards the horizon and didn't stop. He was a strange man even before that, though...he'd put on puppet shows before he let people buy the meat he sold."
He lets Sprig do the talking, merchant-to-merchant.
As the party draws closer, they see an older, slightly portly woman driving it. She wears worn, fairly comfortable clothes and an old, heavily stained apron, along with a plethora of necklaces. As the wagons get into speaking distance the woman says in response to Sprig, ”Well good day to you too. The name’s Bertha, as you mighta guessed. You sure got it, I sell...ah...meat. The best kind of meat you’ll ever get to eat. I’d be just dandy to trade some goods for my grade-A, excellent, and totally normal meat.”
Several of Bertha’s necklaces are...odd. One seems to be made of humanoid teeth, and another has what appears to be a dessicated finger.
Something is a bit off about Bertha. Her speech patterns are strange, and she’s putting a lot of emphasis on the normalcy of her meat.
Saraon's sharp eyes spot the...unusual...jewelry Bertha wears and he nudges the others.
"She adorns herself with people's remains," he whispers. "Only two groups in the wastes do that, raiders and cannibals. Which is she?"
Casey narrows his eyes at the woman as he listens to what Saraon has noticed. He studies her a moment before leaning in toward the others, "Honestly, pardner, it don't matter. Keep and eye out and be ready," the gunslinger warns as leans back out. "Exactly what kind a meat we talkin' 'bout, ma'am? You hunt it yourself or you got hired hands to help you with that?" he asks as he glances around nonchalantly, wondering if this is an ambush.
”Talkin ‘bout...meat. Venison on a good day, ox on a bad day, and horse on real bad days. Ain’t nobody that helps with it. I’ve done it on my own for years, and that’s the way I like it.”
As the others mention thier worries, Sprig does what he does best. Talking.
Leaping from behind the reigns of his horses, Sprig slowly walks alongside Bertha. He talks quickly, keeping the older woman's attention on the small lizard. "Well Bertha, it's a right pleasure t' meetcha. Th' name's Sprig Snaggletooth, maybe ya've heard of me. Ah've been a big fan of well seasoned meats for a long time, nothin' better than a real cut yew can sink th' ol' chompers into. How about's we do a little taster? Now then, I plumb forgot Ah've been hauling this barrel of mead. Good year, 1872, from one the best brewers around. Ever heard of the Glidenmere Family? Great bunch of dwarves, really know how to show a lizard sum hospitality. I hear they 'ave a fancy to mix berries into the brew to really punch up th' flavor. I happen t'ave traded a small fortune fer th' barrel but Ah'm perfectly willing to pop 'er open as a way of meetin' new friends and potential business partners. Don't you worry, I've been workin' some the ol' Snaggletooth magic t' keep the nice 'n cool even this weather, whattya say to taste? Big Bill! Ow's about you pour the two of us a mug of mead fer our new friend here? I hope yah don't mind my fowardness, Ah get that a lot in mah line 'o work. But somethin' about meat just get's the 'ol jaws snappin' real good. Ah must say, yah really keep yerself presentable even on th' road. A real businesswoman Ah can respect, and the jewelry you keep? Real tasteful iff'n a must say. If we weren't on th' road I'd have to ask you for a dance! BIG BILL! WHAT'S KEEPIN' YAH? DON"T KEEP TH' NICE WOMAN WAITIN!"
He had been keeping quiet in the back with Sprig's goods. After all he had been battling with his conscious the last few hours. He jerked himself out of his reverie...(though lets be honest he probably looked like he was back there taking a nap) when he heard the others speaking.
It didnt sound like a battle kicking off so he hopped out slowly enough to round the corner and eye the other wagon.
Brindle satellites Sprig's wagon on foot, keeping her eyes on the horizon as much as the changeable sky. She gravitates in when the wagons meet, but has a hard time understanding what all the fuss is about. Bertha clearly eats other sentient beings, and clearly doesn't want to share the best bits.
Brindle fishes out her coin pouch.
"Berftha. Have you any leg?"
Ralrae is also surprised by the trader. Meat spoils quickly, and is valuable; unless there is some serious magic supporting storage and preservation, this seems like a poor business to be in. He studies the wagon as it draws closer to their own (Well, Sprig's) little caravan.
Nothing looks off about the trader and her wagon, but he's definitely convinced she has something to hide. Ralrae can't help but agree with Casey; raider or cannibal, he's not on board with the buying and selling of sentients.
Which is why Brindle's question throws him for a loop.
After pondering a moment, he decides that Brindle must be acting within the common stereotype that gnolls eat sentient beings, and she is trying to shock the merchant into making a mistake. The thought of eating another sentient fills him with disgust, and he quickly moves on in his mind. He has the worrying thought that the trader may be looking to replenish her possibly questionable stock, and loosens his rifle in it's sling, taking advantage of his small stature and being within the wagon to keep the movement hidden as Sprig distracts the merchant. "I don't like the look of this one bit. Nice job on leading her along, too." He mutters quietly to the wagon, with the last directed at Brindle.
Bertha smiles, ”Well, I’ve got all sorts of legs. If you want to come in the cart and take a look around, I’m sure we can sort something out.”
Saraon makes a concerned noise at Brindle's nonchalance at the possibility of cannibalism, but doesn't speak.
"It isn't cannibalism if SHE'S eating it, don't be disrespectful," he thinks to himself.
"Legs? too gamey most the time. Prefer rib meat myself, specially if its in a good stew."
He added in a dry tone. The edge of his lips did slightly curl up. He didnt actually enjoy the taste of man meat, but he had learned a long time ago not to question too much sometimes where things came from. Hell he knew several bandits in some of the crews who raved about the stuff. To each their own really. He could tell that the others here clearly had some problems with it.
Well cept Brindle, and he couldn't fault her.
"Where are you leaving from? Hows your trip been?"
As Sprig jabbered along, he'd occasionally steal glances at the back of Bertha's cart. If he were still running with kobolds, they'd have raided half the wagon by now, let alone look inside. Maybe these Tallfolk do things differently.
"I do apologize ma'am. Seems my boy Billy has been struck with a case of the nerves. Let me go and see if ah can straighten the boy out. T'will be but a moment." Sprig makes his way to his own wagon, hopping into the back.
"What in sam hell are y'all doin? I thought we had a procedure for these kinds 'o sitchiations. One 'o you get me a pound of coffee beans, and the rest of yew stay outta sight. If she is a raider, we don't want 'em catchin' wind of us, might spook 'em to see a wagon full 'o cutthroats."
Exiting once more with a bag of coffee beans in hand, he casually tosses them to Bertha. "Go ahead, smell 'em. Those are high quality coffee beans right there. Whatchew say we make a deal? Ah'm starvin!" The same crocodile grin plastered on Sprig's face seems a little less friendly given the subject matter.
Brindle stares at Bertha and sniffs a little. Her coin pouch disappears under her wooden breastplate.
”I like not wagonzs. You bring leg. Dwarf. Elf. Human. ” the gnoll counts off her choices on one paw.
Bertha nods to Bas and says, "Well, I'm headed out from Crossroads, might head to Red Plains or Jasper's Hollow."
She then walks around toward the door in the back of the wagon and says, "I can't promise I got those sorts of legs, but I'll get ya something."
The area is silent for a moment before the group hears a deep, throaty roar. The door bursts open and Bertha stands in the doorway. She holds an enormous, bloodstained axe and wears a mask made from crudely stitched leather of an indeterminate type. She says in a guttural voice, "You want meat? You gon' be meat, startin' with the dog!"
With that, she jumps off the wagon and charges towards Brindle, axe raised. However, she swings incredibly wide, her axe spraying up a great cloud of dust.
The party is up!
As soon as the crazed old woman charges at Brindle, Sprig took off running. He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a small whistle, blowing it as loudly as he could. Everyone should know something's gone wrong!
Heart pounding in his chest, Sprig dives behind his own wagon, hoping to keep the solid wooden structure between himself and the axe wielding psycho.
Ralrae is unsurprised when the madwoman attacks. "Knew it would work out like this... eatin' folks ain't a good idea." He mutters to himself, glad that he hadn't had to watch a transaction of flesh. He finishes drawing his weapon, and takes aim at Bertha.
As the bullet leaves the musket, Ralrae knows he doesn't have time to reload, and curses the general ineptitude of firearm inventors who only make weapons with capacity for a single round.
"Yep. You got that right, pardner." Casey agrees with his fellow gunslinger as he pulls out his own musket, takes aim, and fires at Bertha.
"Why did you have to go and do a thing like that..."
He muttered and shook his head He charged forth torwards the Crazed meat seller himself.
Brindle blinks as the meat vendor attacks. She roars in return, her hackles rising from hip to neck. Quick as an adder she swings her fell gunstock club back and forth across her body at Bertha. The first swing is wild, and the second wilder...
Free Action: Enter Rampage.
Full Attack: Flurry.
Swift Action: Expend Primal State, use Auspicious Mark.
[+2 BAB, +3 Str, - 2 furious blows, +1d6 Auspicious Mark]
[+4 THF]
[+2 BAB, +3 Str, - 2 furious blows]
[+4 THF]